#started watching like a month before that maybe

[pucksandpower]

Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else ��� something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[verdantchan]

Always You

Pairing: Best friend! Bangchan x Afab! Reader

Summary: It’s hard to enjoy a party when your best friend who you’ve been in love with for years turns up with his girlfriend…

Warnings: MDNI, dom!chan, sub!reader, possessive!chan, unprotected sex (don’t be like them) dirty talk, cum eating, multiple orgasms (f!rec) fingering (f!rec) mentions of mastubation, spitting (chan spits on it yk..) tummy bulge, creampie

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: did I write and edit it this in one sitting? yes I did,,, is this also my return to writing fics after 5 years bc I’m so attracted to chan idk what to do?? Also yes 🤪

‘‘Lixieee watch my drink, I nearly dropped it’’ You roll your eyes and smile at Felix as he practically jumps on you. His parties were always rowdy, especially when Jisung wormed his way into the planning. Colourful lights strewn around every pillar and doorway, countless bottles and cheesy red cups littering the granite countertops in the dorm kitchen, the air thick with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of liquor.

Part of you loved how committed the boys were to throwing the most stereotypical frat parties, the perfect way to unwind from the stress of uni life. You scan the room for that all too familiar face but find no sign of him, your shoulders dropping slightly, the disappointment in your chest too strong to ignore.

You and Chan had been best friends since you were 12, your parents pushing you together as an unlikely duo. You'd immediately become inseparable,spending every second with each other. People had always questioned your relationship, everyone thought you must be dating if you were so close, but you and Chan were just friends, at least that's what you convinced yourself it had to be.

You first started having feelings for Chan at 18, you were university freshmen starting the next big chapter of your lives together and you couldn't get him out of your head. His deep brown eyes that sparkled when he spoke about the things he loved, his soft curly black hair that you loved ruffling to annoy him and his dimples that became impossibly deep when he smiled. Being around him was both torture and comfort. Three years later and you were still completely in love with someone who views you as his best friend, nothing more. In other words, you're utterly fucked.

‘’Lix, have you seen Chan tonight? I thought he was coming’’  Felix still clinging to you in his tipsy state. His messy blonde hair slightly covering his eyes and freckle-dotted cheeks, a pink blush dusting his skin thanks to the many drinks he’d already knocked back.

‘’Nah not yet, he said he's coming later after his date’’ he slurs his words a little, all giggly and happy, not knowing the ache his words cause you. You hum in response, suddenly feeling less sociable than a few minutes ago.

‘’Ahhhhh speak of the devil’’ Felix laughs and nods toward the doorway, Chan's broad shoulders making it look tiny. His hand interlocked with hers, observing the room and briefly locking eyes with you before looking away.

Chan had been dating Euna for a few months, but it never got easier seeing them together. 

They'd met in one of your classes, Euna was sweet, pretty  and very popular with both the students and teachers. It hadn’t taken Chan too long to fall for her and spend less and less time with you. He swore nothing had changed between you two but you knew better. It wasn't long after they started dating that Chan began cancelling your plans because ‘Euna planned something’ or he ‘just couldn't make it that day’ You wanted to believe that it would all go back to the way it was soon enough but that day never came, Chan drifting further as time passed. 

You missed his smile, the way he would make you laugh, the way he would bring you your favourite food when you were tired or upset. You thought that maybe one day you would be together, that Chan would see you as more than just his best friend. Sometimes it felt like more between you two. 

He and Euna weave their way through the crowd, her trailing slightly behind, Chan looking back at her every so often with a smile, the sight of them making you nauseous though you wish it didn't. Chan lets go of her to pull Felix into a hug, Euna eyeing you awkwardly as the two of them catch up. Euna had never been rude to you, never made a snarky comment about you being friends with Chan, but she never really said much around you if you were honest. 

‘’Your dress is super pretty’’ you squeak out attempting to break the silence between you two, She offers up a small thank you and a tight smile and turns to Chan as he pulls her into his side, his attention now on the two of you instead of the tipsy blonde Aussie

 ‘’Hey y/n’’ Chan smiles as he lets go of Euna and pulls you into a quick side hug, letting go as quickly as he’d pulled you in, his soft musky scent filling your senses. The four of you make small talk, Chan's eyes catching your own as Felix rambles to Euna about his current pc build. The air starts to feel suffocating, his glances making you feel trapped. You quickly make an excuse to leave, Chan's smile faltering as you excuse yourself from their conversation and disappear into the crowd of bodies. 

It was impossible to think while Chan was standing there, his arms wrapped around Euna unapologetically. The jealousy burning more than the straight tequila sloshing around in your cup, you start to sway to the music begging yourself to forget about him and enjoy your night. You feel a pair of eyes follow your silhouette but you continue to drink and dance, the alcohol making its way through your system and drowning out every thought.

 You feel a figure behind you grabbing your hips and swaying with you, turning your head to see the blurred outline of Hyunjin, his hair in his eyes, a pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. You let yourself melt into him, you'd always found him attractive anyway. You and Hyunjin move together perfectly, his smooth movements guiding your own as he whispers the lyrics to the song in your ear, his plump lips catching your skin slightly. You finally move your eyes to Chan still feeling someone watching you, secretly wishing it was him. You’re met with a sharp glare, his eyes never leaving you and Hyunjin, his jaw locked in annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and turn around to face Hyunjin winding your arms around his slender neck. 

You turn back to glance at Chan to find him charging your way, ripping you from your dance partner's embrace and towards the stairwell. 

‘’Chan what the fuck are you doing?’’ you yell, trying to wriggle your wrist from his strong grip as he pulls you upstairs and into one of the empty bedrooms.

‘’What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing y/n? Grinding all over Hyunjin like that’’

‘’We are not doing this right now, why does it have anything to do with you, Chan? Why do you even care?’’ venom coating your words, attempting to open the door and leave but being stopped short when he stands in the way, eyes burning into yours. Chan had never been like this with you, what had gotten into him?

‘’What? Are you suddenly into Hyunjin?? We both know he's not right for you y/n’’  his eyebrows knitted in annoyance.

‘’And how would you know what's best for me Chan? We hardly talk anymore!’’ you run your fingers through your hair, easing the tension building up behind your eyes. 

‘’Of course we still talk, you know i've been busy’’ he fires back, disregarding how much space really had built up between the two of you. 

’Give it up Chan and go back to Euna, what I do with Hyunjin has fuck all to do with you’’ you can't deal with the confusion, why is he acting like he's jealous of you and Hyunjin? Why does it matter to him? 

‘’’I’m your best friend y/n of course it has something to do with me, he's not right for you’’ 

‘’Oh my god get your head out of your ass chan, just like you said, you're my best friend not my boyfriend. You can date but I can't? I'm not gonna wait on you to notice me for the rest of my life’’ You turn your face away from him, your confidence and fire slipping as Chan studies you intensely, the room silent apart from your breathing. 

‘’My god you’re an idiot’’ Chan mumbles before grabbing your chin and smashing his lips onto yours, you melt into the kiss at first before snapping out of it and pushing him away

Chan what are you doing?’’ You feel dizzy as you maintain your balance, your hands still pressed against his toned chest. your lungs heaving in time with the thud of the music coming from below. 

‘’You really have no idea, do you? I’m fucking in love with you y/n, why do you think I even started dating Euna in the first place, I wanted to get over you, why else would I jump into a relationship with a girl I hardly knew??’’ The annoyance in his voice evident as he goes on, he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly,  messy waves falling in his face. 

You stare up at him stunned, your lips parted in surprise, he pulls you back in, his lips covering yours as he presses you into him with fervour. He deepens the kiss and walks you backwards, his hands pressing into your hips, his hold nothing like hyunjins. He pulls away his eyes searching yours for something, anything. 

“Tell me to stop, if you don't want this I’ll walk away” his voice is breathy and pained, evident that the last thing he wanted was for you to say now.

You've waited too long for this, for him to need you, touch you. You know it's wrong, his girlfriend just a floor below but you’ve wanted and waited too much to stop and walk away, you can deal with your moral shortcomings tomorrow. 

‘’Please, Chan’’ you whisper, desperate for him to touch you again, clenching your thighs together as heat pools in your lower stomach, your insides on fire for him. He watches how desperate you are for him, your answer clear.

‘���Fuck you’re perfect’’ you look at him pleadingly and he can't hold back anymore, he’d thought about you like this too many times to count, in dreams and when awake. When he can't sleep and he fucks his fist wishing it was you, how pretty your moans would sound as he rocked into you, how tight you'd be around him, how his cum would leak out of your fluttering hole. He was too far gone, a man possessed. 

You gasp as he pushes you back on the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress perfectly, he licks and nips at your jaw, his hand finding your soaked underwear under your skirt, circling your puffy clit through the slick fabric. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, bet Hyunjin could never have this effect on you. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget he exists’’ his words making you tingle, his fingers exactly where you need them.

‘’Only want you’’ Your voice comes out breathy and fucked out even though he’s barely touched you and it sends a rush of blood to Chan's already rock-solid cock, straining against the tight fabric of his black jeans.

He sinks two fingers into your tight pussy and you scream in pleasure and pain at the intrusion, his fingers so much thicker and longer than yours, the stretch taking your breath away 

‘’Yeah be a good girl and take my fingers in that tight little cunt, I know you can’’ The way he whispers as your pussy stretches around his fingers and wet squelches echo through the room has you throwing your head back, Chans other hand finding your tits as he stretches you out for him. You shake as he moves his fingers in and out of you, the stretch now dissolved into intense pleasure. He can tell you're close, your eyes closed in pleasure as you sigh out his name.

‘’cum for me pretty, cum around my fingers’’ You moan his name over and over as he rubs your soaking clit and plunges his fingers into your sopping hole,  your back arching in pleasure as he works you through your high. Shouting his name as you cum on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. The sight alone already making you needy for more 

‘’Need you so bad baby, need to feel you milk my cock’’ he breathes out as he undoes his belt, desperate to be inside of you. You spread your sticky thighs, your glistening pussy on full display for him. His cock springs free from its confines, his pink tip leaking down onto the rest of his thick veiny length. It was no surprise he had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen. He gives it a few pumps, slapping your clit with his bulbous tip, and you moan in pleasure at the sting. 

‘’Take it, baby. Gonna stretch you out so good, gonna make you mine’’ his voice shaky as he presses into you, your pussy spasming around his hard length splitting you open, he slowly bottoms out with a moan stilling inside you. His cock making your stomach bulge with his size 

‘’Fuckfuckfuckkkk you're still so tight, such a perfect pussy’’ his words coming out more like a mantra, the feeling of you around him making him pussydrunk. He fucks in and out of you grabbing your thighs, spreading you wider for him, watching where you’re joined as he takes you. 

 ‘’talk to me baby girl, tell me how I make you feel’’ 

‘’Love it when you fuck me Channie, love your cock so much’’ your voice strained and whiny, writhing against the sheets as he sets a rough pace. He spits on your pussy, the liquid dripping down to where you meet, the sight only aiding his pleasure. 

‘’Bet you thought about this huh? Thought about how good it would feel when I ruin you, hmm baby? Bet you’d touch this little clit thinking about how good I would fuck you?’’ His thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm, his fingers coming to circle your clit. Your moans getting louder as you get close for the second time.

‘’Cum with me baby, wanna cum in this pussy, fill you up with my cum’’ his thrusts getting more erratic and desperate as you orgasm together. You scream his name, your nails digging into his toned back muscles. Chan stills as he spurts his hot release into you, his cum painting your insides a milky white. He collapses onto you, his muscled chest pressed against your fucked out form, both of you breathing heavily. 

‘’Fuck you're mine, just mine’’ he whispers, his cock still inside you, both your release leaking out around his still hard dick.. 

‘’Yeah just yours, Channie’’ you breathe out dreamily, still coming down from your high  

You both lay like that for a while, Chan's face tucked into your neck, leaving gentle kisses, his cock stiffening again inside of you, the party coming to an end downstairs. Things had happened so fast you hadn't realised Chan brought you to his own room, the purple lights giving his skin a lilac hue. 

‘’Chan. What happens now?” You hesitate not wanting to ruin the moment, praying you didn't just fuck everything up with him with a simple question.

He sighs into your skin snuggling closer ‘’I meant it when I said you're mine y/n, Euna knows she and I are done, she knew I was in love with you. I want this, I want you’’ his voice soft and sleepy. 

Your heart nearly explodes, ‘’I love you too Chan, I want you too’’ you kiss him passionately, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, smiling into the kiss as he begins moving inside you again. It feels like a dream and you can't believe he's in love with you too, that he wants you like you want him. Now you have him you'll never let him go, you have always been his, even if he didn't know it. 

‘’It's always been you y/n’’

-ty for reading!! Alr working on more hehe

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ Prologue

⭐︎ When the sun hits, she’ll be waiting

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, post apocalypse, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, gore, blood, mean!steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another patrol. Patrols he's been doing for a whole year, and nothing ever changes. Maybe he had to kill one demodog, or demobat, but overall, it was the same walk, the same stance, the same weariness… only this time, something new appeared in his walk.

Word count: 4.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult and I are back with another Steve series, I hope you're as excited as I am, you got a lot of angst, fluff and smut coming your way! And also, shoutout to @ghost-proofbaby who picked the title for this story, thank you my love

series masterlist

☀︎

It was funny. 

He had watched apocalypse movies. He had seen the terrible visual effects done with strawberry syrup, the gelatin that exploded pretending to be brains and flesh, the people becoming zombies and doing loud and stupid moans in their chase. He knew the apocalypse would never look like that, but he also never believed he would live in something very much alike, and not at all a movie.

They had not defeated Vecna. They have killed him, but defeated? No. He is gone but he left behind the world he created, he reached his goal and got what he wanted, something that Steve and the others were very blind to at first, they watched him die; they burned his body to make sure that he was gone for good. They thought they won, but it was a false victory, one that gave them all the opportunity to recover, opportunities that included them trying to become a town again, yet after three months of what they thought was safe, the first demogorgon crawled out of the big gates that were created. Killed instantly. Then another. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Demogorgons, demobats, demodogs, and other upside down creatures... and this time, they came with infectious venom.

Venom that turned people into bloodthirsty, flesh eating monsters with nothing but death in their eyes, people turned into monsters who became part of Vecna’s army, crawling into homes and houses, spreading way too quickly and unable to be stopped from claiming not only the town but all of the country and soon the whole globe. 

They noticed when it was already too late, when the world was already too far gone and the lives of many were lost and claimed by darkness. 

When the realization started sinking in and he saw, felt the panic, the fear, the desperation, the dread and death, he felt like he was going to lose himself, knowing that the world he once knew was gone and never to be brought back again, that it was all lost and someday to be forgotten but a feeling he hadn’t noticed yet was acceptance. 

Because if anyone knew how to adapt, then it was him. Unlike many others, he had no home that he lost, he never had one in the first place. His parents' house was only ever a big lonely space that he never found comfort in until his friends filled that space with warmth and laughter, laughter that still echoes in his ears whenever he thinks of simpler times, laughter that he thinks he will never hear again. 

The house is now even emptier and colder than before, claimed by vines, dust and spider webs, just like most of the houses in Hawkins are… or the rest of the world. He passed familiar houses before, Dustin’s home and Lucas’s, he only glanced at them, not bearing to look longer, not wanting to feel, not wanting to look back at what he lost. 

The gun in his hand feels light, nothing like it used to feel the first few times he had to hold one or use one. His footsteps are barely audible as he walks through the empty cul-de-sac, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed, he is on high alert, he always is, even when he doesn’t have to. 

He feels relaxed, despite the circumstances, despite the death that could be waiting around any corner, he feels relaxed. He walks past the abandoned cars and houses, watching out for any creature that could come crawling out from any hole. A lone plushie lies on the ground, dirty and splattered with blood – a sight that would have made him sick a year ago, thinking about whose blood it could’ve been, now makes him feel indifference. He had seen so many ugly, disturbing things, nothing truly fazes him anymore, it’s awful and sometimes he wonders if he is still a good person or if the horrors of this world have turned him into a monster as well, if the darkness had claimed him too like it had claimed the sick people. Sometimes he feels pain, sometimes he feels nothing but today he feels a sliver of sadness, one that he swallows down as quickly as it comes, he can’t stand it. 

The sun shines down on him but he barely feels the warmth even though it’s there, the light of it illuminates the empty road ahead of him, the chaos left behind, the rotten grass and the dead flowers, they don’t grow anymore, the birds don’t sing anymore, he wonders if there are even any left in this world, most have died, just like the ones he used to see every day, they have died. 

A soft huff falls from his lips when he notices that the laces on his boots have come undone, he stops walking and looks around, making sure that nothing and nobody will creep up on him the moment he kneels down, he would be surprised if something like that still happened around here though. Hawkins is empty of people and monsters, it was only the doorway for them to get through to get to the rest of the world, this place is just as abandoned as the houses are. 

The houses where his friends used to live. Where Lucas used to live. Dustin. The Wheelers. The Byers. That home that was lived in by other people last year. His house. Those remained intact, yet empty and filled with vines, darkness, dust of the memories from those who once lived in there. The only place that got swallowed whole was Forest Hills trailer park. Where Max used to live. Where Eddie used to live.

Placing the gun in his holster, he kneels down and reaches for the undone laces, wasting no second to tie them. His ears pick up on any sound, on the wind that howls through the bushes and the trees, through the broken windows, the bells that still hang from the ceilings on the empty porches. His eyes never stay focused on only the task before him, he is always ready to fight, to kill but it’s been a while since he had to use his gun or a machete, or even his bat. 

But today the hairs on his neck stand up for the first time in a while. Goosebumps arise on his skin and he feels it, a presence behind him. Steve swallows harshly, not knowing what to expect the moment he turns around, a demogorgon, a demodog or a sick one. He ties the knot on his boot, tightly. 

Unlike a few months before, he no longer feels fear whenever he is about to stare evil in it’s eyes, he no longer dreads it, he no longer feels his heart skipping or racing, he feels nothing anymore. 

He reaches for his gun and jumps to his feet, raising his arm and the gun, turning on his heel and aiming at the presence that lingered behind him, the one that would have normally lunged at him by now but it’s not a creature staring back at him nor is it a sick person, a sick person wouldn’t raise her arms up in surrender or step back in fear. 

“Hang on! I’m not bitten! I’m alive, I’m still alive!” Your voice is panicked, your eyes are too. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched, his eyes move up and down your body, taking in the state of your clothes first, no holes or tears in them, they are clean – clean for the end of the world. Your hair is tied, hanging down your shoulders in two braids, there are knives tucked into your belt and a gun in your thigh holster that you have no intent to reach for. You don’t look like a threat but Steve learned to not be deceived by appearances only. He eyes your exposed skin, where your flannel had slipped down your shoulder, exposing a wound, not a bite, not a scratch, only a cut that he can’t help but wonder how it got there or why. 

“Turning takes days,” Steve murmurs as he tears his gaze away from you for a second to scan the area around you two, who knows what you had dragged here or who. 

“I can sing Madonna for you?” 

He rolls his eyes as he looks back at you, for someone armed with knives and a glock 17 strapped to her thigh, you sure do look like a frightened cat, ready to run. You are not a threat. He knows it; he sees it; he feels it. He knows danger; you aren’t that. 

“You’re not bitten?” He asks as he lowers his gun, letting you relax again. 

You shake your head, though you can still see the hesitance in his eyes, the mistrust. 

“Do I–” you start innocently, blushing already as you look at the man before you, “do I need to get naked? If so, I’d prefer a woman, if that is possible.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, ignoring the heat that rises in his cheeks. He puts his gun back in his holster. 

“Fuck, no, no… I believe you, what– what are you doing in the middle of Hawkins?” 

He sees the way your shoulders relax, the way you take a deep breath in and then out, lowering your arms to your sides. 

“I was in a small camp, a few towns away, and I’m trying to get to my old home… though, I got a bit lost cause a bat ripped my map out of my hands…” You frown. 

“Demobat.” 

You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows, “what?” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, shaking his head at himself, he keeps forgetting. 

“Nevermind.”

Your head is still tilted, your brows still furrowed, you look him up and down, no words fall from your lips, for a moment you are quiet. 

He grows a little flustered beneath your gaze, not that he would ever admit, you are just the first stranger he had encountered in a while, a stranger who creeped up on him. 

“You’re not very attentive.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You only noticed me when I was already too close.”

He wants to laugh… a little. 

“Sounds like you were up to no good,” Steve retorts, glaring at you to which your eyes only widen, filled with yet more panic. You open your mouth and close it again, a few times, the shock not letting you speak but when you do, you stutter and shake your head. 

“No! Oh my god! I’m just saying – listen, I want no trouble, I’m just passing through, I just want to go home.”

Steve can’t help but be a bit amused by the panic and the fear in your eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

If laughing hadn’t become such a strange thing to him these days, he would do it now, yeah, he would chuckle, he would laugh loudly. 

“That’s funny,” he mumbles under his breath, looking you up and down one more time before he turns on his heels and continues his journey down the road. His boots hit the gravel roughly, footsteps echoing through the empty streets, it only takes three seconds before a second pair joins, just like he had suspected. 

“Wait!”

You catch up with him quickly, walking beside him now. He feels your eyes on him but he doesn’t turn to look. 

“Is this a community?”

He wouldn’t call it that, the few people that stayed here all fend for themselves, just like him and his friends do. 

“Would be a very shitty one if anyone could just walk in.”

“Right…” He hears you murmur softly. “Are you passing through?”

“No.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

Steve rolls his eyes, side-eying you. He is not very talkative anymore, he finds no joy in holding conversations, let alone in answering questions, he barely uses his voice nowadays, he doesn’t feel bad about it, or even guilty. Normally he would keep quiet or even snap at whoever is bothering him, today he can’t find it in himself to be mean… meaner. 

“Cause it’s my hometown. Why are you by yourself?” Steve asks without looking at you. 

“I left my last camp cause I want to go home, like I said before–”

“I know, I mean why are you traveling by yourself? It’s not safe out here, especially not for women.” Steve rounds the corner, inching closer to the only house that has a light peeking through the boards on the windows. 

“It’s not safe for anyone out here, not just for women,” you correct him, looking at him in surprise when he opens the gate to the backyard before you and lets you walk in first. “But I haven’t seen anyone since I left the camp, you’re the first person…” You mumble and look down at your converse, that look very dirty in comparison to his black boots. 

You stand before him now, close, a little too close for a stranger, though he makes no move to put more distance between you. He sees the wound on your shoulder clearer now, a cut caused by either a knife or glass. 

You tilt your head up again, you are close enough to see his face now properly, the color of his eyes, hazel. Freckles and moles kiss his skin, his features are soft, his expression isn’t. His brown hair is very… voluminous, his beard is trimmed, he looks clean and he doesn’t smell, a rarity nowadays. He is tall, his shoulders are wide, he is certainly much stronger too, his biceps strain against his black shirt, and it only now dawns on you that you followed a man to what you presume is his home, you followed with no hesitation. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat and take a step back. He had shown no interest in you, he doesn’t seem fond of you following him either. He is just as much of a threat as you are, you tell yourself. 

“So er… is it just you here?” You ask, looking at the house he stopped by, the house you presume is his home, his fortress. 

“No.”

You nod, pursing your lips as you look into his cold eyes but he quickly breaks eye contact and starts walking again. 

“Where is everyone and how many people are here?” You ask as you continue on following him, staring at the back of his head, his mullet looks good, taken care of, you notice. “Also why don’t you have any fences, aren’t you afraid of sick ones getting in? And–”

Steve turns on his heel, sighing loudly as he glares down at you, not even moving back when you almost bump into him. 

“Will you shut up for a second!?” He grumbles, glaring at you again as he stares you down. 

You press your lips together, gazing up into his dark eyes, not breaking eye contact. The look on his face should intimidate you, the cold eyes should scare you, he should scare you but he doesn’t. 

“Have any monsters gotten in yet and if so, have you ever fought any? I ran into a dog like creature the other day, that fucker nearly bit my hand off, I–”

Two seconds. You shut up for two fucking seconds. 

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, raising his hand up, he runs his fingers through his hair, his annoyance doesn’t faze you in the slightest, you open your mouth again, ready to ask another question but someone else beats you to it. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

You instantly press your lips together, throwing your hand to your holster as you snap your head to look towards the gate and at the person who cut you off, startled by his presence, you take a step closer to the stranger you just met as you eye the man with the long hair, who is looking at you with a smile on his face. His eyes are kind, much kinder than the ones of the man beside you. He is holding a box, a gun is secured and tucked into his belt. 

“Who’s this lovely lady, Harrington?” He asks, not stepping closer yet. 

Harrington. 

You don’t even notice the girl beside him until she clears her throat, offering you a small smile. Her hair is long and curly too, her bangs cover her eyes a little, a rifle is strapped over her shoulder. 

“Someone passing through,” Harrington grumbles under his breath, clearly wanting you to keep passing through. “She’ll be on her way now.”

It’s getting dark now, it’s not safe to continue your travel when the sun sets. You planned to find shelter when you stepped foot into this town, maybe find some cans of food in one of the abandoned houses. 

The girl meets your eyes, hesitating, she shakes her head. 

“Oh, it’s getting dark, besides she could use a bath, Steve.” The girl says, frowning as she looks you up and down. 

Offended, you scrunch your nose up and look down at yourself, “hey, I do my best in any possible lake!” You argue, despite the surprise in you. Every group, every community you have come across before, did not offer baths or shelter, not after your pleading, at least. 

“She has to go to her hometown–”

“All alone?” The girl asks, frowning at the man – at Steve, beside you. She glances at the one next to her, they share the same look in their eyes. You wonder if they are siblings. 

“Yes, all alone.” Steve sighs. 

They look at him in disappointment. 

He doesn’t want you here. 

It’s nothing you aren’t used to. 

You’re on your own, you always have been. Though you can’t remember the last time you had a proper shower, a real meal or a night full of sleep. You don’t know how to hunt, you wash yourself in lakes and you never sleep through the night, no matter how safe you think you are, you can’t sleep. You can’t even remember the last time you felt fully rested, not even the communities that provided you shelter gave you that real feeling of safety. 

You don’t know these people, the man beside you and the pair before you, but the kind blue eyes and the chocolate brown ones are different from any of the ones you have looked into before – you can feel the indifference from Steve, he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t trust you. 

“I-It’s fine, I was just passing through,” you shrug, offering a smile, despite the weird feeling in your stomach. “Do you… maybe have a map for me though?”

“Yeah,” Steve instantly speaks up, clearly wanting to get rid of you quickly. 

She crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring your question, she glares at Steve, “did she ask to stay?” 

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring back at her with an icy cold stare. 

“We can’t afford another mouth to feed–” 

The guy with the curly hair steps forward with a sigh, approaching Steve with a stubborn look on his face, “I’m keeping her.” 

Steve scrunches his face up, scoffing at his friend, “she’s not a fucking puppy!” 

Though he doesn’t listen to him and turns towards you, nudging his head at you, motioning for you to follow him as he goes to open the door to the house, “come on, we’re gonna eat dinner soon, we’re making stew. And you can get cleaned up if you want, Nancy will give you some clean clothes.”

You want to follow badly, the mention of food, of a warm meal makes your mouth water, and you wouldn’t say no to a shower and fresh clothes either but Steve’s unwelcoming expression makes you hesitate. 

He is looking down at the ground, his jaw tense, his eyes unimpressed. 

The girl, Nancy, she is looking at him still, waiting for him to look at her too but he doesn’t. There is something in her eyes that you can’t read, the same look that resides in his own. 

With a sigh, she looks away and starts walking towards you after closing the gate behind her. She can see the hesitation on your face. 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, we’re leaving soon too–”

“We are not,” Steve says harshly, nearly making you flinch. 

“We are.” Nancy argues, her brows are pulled together, her lips curl downwards. 

She is certainly more intimidating than he is. 

“You can stay for the night, like Eddie said, we’ll have dinner and you can get cleaned up, tomorrow you can be on your way with the map you have asked for, but it’s getting dark now – so, you’re staying.” 

“Okay.”

It’s funny, normally that would have been a warning sign for you to run. People aren’t usually so persistent for you to stay and if they are, you never stay long enough to find out what evilness they have planned for you. Usually you aren’t so trusting, but her kind blue eyes make it hard not to. 

Finding kindness in this world is a rarity nowadays, you wonder if these people ever encountered real danger – not the creatures, or the sick people but humans, you found out that those can be much worse, evil. You figure that they haven’t, otherwise they wouldn’t be so trusting towards you, even Steve, he didn’t ask you to take your weapons off of you, didn’t tell you to hand them over, he just let you follow, and his friends open the door to their home for you, they let you inside, he does too. 

You have a growing suspicion that they don’t really know the world they live in now, they haven’t seen past this untouched town, they haven’t seen what people are capable of, how cruel and evil they can be, because if they did, you would not be welcome here, not so easily, no matter how harmless you seem to them. 

But the kindness you are greeted with today encourages the hope that never died inside of you. 

Hope that died in him a long time ago. 

Hope that will die in you just like it did in him. 

He watches you closely, the way you look around the house the three of them have stayed in for the past year, you throw your backpack to the ground, leaving it abandoned by the stairs. You eye the radio station in the living room, curiosity lingers in your eyes, he notices how your fingers twitch but you don’t touch it, you draw back from it when you catch him staring at you like a hawk – he almost feels bad when you shy away. 

You turn your back to him and look at the bookshelf, tilting your head to the side. 

Steve should stop it, the staring, but he can’t, he doesn’t know why, you are not a threat, he doesn’t need to watch you but he keeps doing it, slowly following you through the house like you are his prey. 

You are the first stranger to enter this house, the first and the only. Every person who stumbled upon this ghost town was turned and scared away by him. He doesn’t know why he let you inside, Eddie and Nancy wouldn’t be able to keep you here, no matter how persistent and stubborn they had been. If they didn’t want you here, you would have been long gone and not walking around the house. 

But something about you makes him mad.

Maybe it’s the way you so easily fit in, or maybe it’s the way you fall for Eddie’s charm and giggle at every attempt of his to make you smile, maybe it’s the way you get along with Nancy right away, Nancy who is usually distrusting of anyone she doesn’t know, or maybe it’s the way you look at him when you sit across from him during dinner, the golden light from the fireplace touching your soft skin. Your eyes are big and innocent, the air around you is too, like you had been untouched by the horrors of this world, like nothing ever happened to you, like you didn’t lose anything or anyone, like the world didn’t even scratch the surface of you. 

He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know anything about you but he knows what you are – a naive and stupid girl, one that throws herself into danger, the cut on your shoulder and the scars on your upper arm are proof of that, you won’t survive long, people like you never do. 

He stares into your eyes and you stare back, eyeing him while Eddie talks your ear off, who is happy to have someone new to talk with, considering he is stuck with people who aren’t the most talkative. 

You blink, holding his gaze for a while. 

You are trouble, the kind that he wants to stay away from, the kind he needs to stay away from. 

And yet he finds himself knocking on the bathroom door to give you the toiletries and the clothes that Nancy had prepared for you after dinner. He is huffing loudly when he hears you singing, or humming. The only person he ever heard hum in a shower nowadays was Eddie, and he did it just to be an obnoxious prick. You, you are just happy, and who the hell is happy nowadays with how the world is? A psychopath. You are a fucking psychopath.

“One sec!” Your voice was sweet as the water is turned off, and soon after, the door is opening and his eyes are everywhere. You are wrapped in a towel, holding it tightly on your chest where the edge is tucked in. Your wet hair falling down your shoulders, the droplets all over your skin, and you have a stupid smile on your face. That snaps him out from the trance of staring at you more than he should. He blames it on not meeting another woman in a while. The only one in this ‘community’ of his age is Nancy, and she and him made it clear that whatever happened when Vecna was alive, that it was purely out of adrenaline and the need to be or feel cared for by someone in that moment.

“Have your stuff. Remember to give the clothes back before you leave tomorrow.” He extends his arms towards you, the body cream on top of the clothes, making you gasp as your arms shoot to take them from him, your eyes stuck on the white bottle.

“Oh god… thank you… I can’t– I can’t thank you enough–”

“Not me. Nancy and Eddie. I wanted you gone, still want you gone.” His eyes are looking away from you, down the hall as he speaks. He is harsh and he knows it, but there is a limit on water usage in the community, and you just used a ton. Which makes him think that Nancy and Eddie are being serious on leaving, not caring for the limits any longer. 

Your eyes look up, catching onto the patch of freckles and moles on his neck, as well as a very prominent scar. As if he had been choked by some rope, going all the way around. You were hurt by his words, but yet, this guy is being mean, and wants to kick you out, and he is standing in front of you handing you body cream and clothes, when he could have refused. He could have shot you and defy his friends. He could have been pushier.

And so your hope doesn’t die.

“I’ll thank them later… but yet, thank you, as well.” You persist and he grumbles something under his breath, his head turning to look at you one last time. Hopefully, the last time he sees it before he wakes up tomorrow. 

“Have a safe trip tomorrow.” And with that, he walks down the hall and towards his room, slowly closing the door behind him. Robin is going to kill him. Letting a random girl inside the house. Eddie and Nancy were out of their minds. Everyone was, except him. Hopefully.

He hears murmurs between you and Nancy in the hallway, giggles that disappear as you two disappear into Nancy’s room. She is letting you sleep on the bed with her. What the fuck was Nance thinking? You are a stranger… A stranger who seemed harmless enough, a stranger who looked… tired. Like the only thing you wanted to do was sleep, and sleep, and sleep. 

He might be over-exaggerating with how he is treating you, but can anyone blame him for it?

His eyes move towards a scarf on his bed frame, his fingers caressing the hand-knitted mustard colored cotton between his fingers. He hears Eddie whistling as he goes into his room and his anger bubbles up inside of him again.

He isn’t leaving this town. It is a stupid idea to do so. It is reckless. It is also going against the community’s rules. He isn’t going to leave. He can’t leave Robin behind, and Eddie and Nancy know she won’t be coming along.

He won’t leave the last thing that is keeping him alive.

[quarterlifekitty]

The Gaz secret baby post was sooo delicious. He totally would go "oh fuck yeah a baby it’s baby time". You've infected my brain with this trope and the doctors are saying it's incurable 🤒 I keep thinking of Nikolai in this trope!

He's not made his attraction to you any secret – you dismiss any reciprocated feelings because it's just not realistic with both of your jobs. The task force finishes a gruelling but successful op with him, and everybody decides to let loose for a night. After a few many rounds of drinks… you inevitably fall into his bed.

Cut to 5 weeks later, you're staring at a positive test and wondering how long you can keep this a secret. You resolve to never let Nik know he's the dad. Someone who loves his job, disappearing for months… you decide it's best for your child to have at least one present parent and maybe you're scared of the rejection.

I’m so ashamed I haven’t done this trope for Nikolai!!! I love the idea of you trying actively to hide it— it’s not just a one night stand thing, you really know each other and you’re still trying to get away with it.

At first, when he sees the baby— he just assumes it can’t be his, because you would’ve told him, wouldn’t you? Surely you wouldn’t think he didn’t want anything to do with a perfect, chubby baby made from both you and him. So when he’s questioning, it’s about the timelines. He knows there wasn’t anything labeled between you— it was one night, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but the beast inside him still bares its teeth at the idea that you fucked someone right after he fucked you.

Price, for all that Nik is his best mate, promised to be your confidant as your captain, and he wouldn’t betray that. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a messy bitch who will start making a whole load of implications. Some of them are pretty crude, too, because he’s trying to goad Nik into confronting you. Saying things like “You should dick ‘er down again soon, last time it settled her down like you wouldn’t believe.”

It makes Nik more and more sure that there wasn’t anyone else. You were never really the type. Which means the baby must be his, and for some reason, you don’t want him to know.

That makes his blood hot. The idea that you don’t want him to father his own baby. You’ve always been a bit bristly to him, and he’s never known exactly why— he was hoping to find out the morning after you fell into bed together, but you ran out first thing, and he was contracted in a job soon after.

So he hangs over you more than before, watching from a distance, the gears turning as he considers what the fuck to say to get you to fess up. He wants to hear you say it. He doesn’t want to just ask and have you confirm or deny.

It hurts that you don’t want to tell him. That you don’t feel it’s safe for him to know. That you’re trying to protect yourself and the cub from him knowing. And despite the support from your own squad— it can’t have been easy for you.

But he also doesn’t want to miss out on another second of fatherhood. There’s an impatient roiling in his gut about it. Seeing your fat little baby, his fat little baby, and not being able to wordlessly lift it from your arms and hold it close to his chest and kiss its head.

So he’s conflicted, to say the least.

[simonriley09]

hmm maybe Simon returns home to his lover after being gone for six months?

Simon's been gone for 6 months, you've made some changes to the house, you got 2 orange kittens, new plants, and some cat items.

You're cleaning the cats bowls not realising Simon came home and is in full gear, watching you. He stares at the 2 kittens which are by your feet, meowing loudly and trying to climb up your leg.

He stares at them before walking over, wrapping his arms around your waist before he hears a scream and gets whacked over the head with a wet frying pan..

He's knocked to the floor, sitting on his ass and looking up at you.

"Luv s'just me." He grumbled, getting up and hugging you again.

You hold his head where you hit him and kiss it, apologising profusely.

"Jesus Christ Simon you cant just scare me like that!" You whine, feeling slightly guilty but also annoyed since he did this to himself. 🙄

He just hugs you tighter, mumbling into your hair. "You babysitting cats, luv?"

"..No .. I adopted them." You mumble back and he just stares at you in slight annoyance, the little buggers still meowing loudly and crawling up both of your legs.

"They're so loud." He says.

"They're hungry Simon. Get me the cat food it's next to the fridge."

He let's go of you and walks over to grab the little baggie of food, handing it to you and watching you make the kitty's food.

Once you're done he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom and plops you down onto the bed, he starts stripping out of his gear until he's in just his boxers.

His warm body flops ontop of yours, his sweaty dirty gear discarded.

You scratch his back while you talk to him, not knowing his sleeping until he stops replying.

He's asleep and you're stuck under him.. I guess you're staying here for now.

[lemon-berri]

Perfume

Gojo Satoru has been standing in a perfume shop for the better part of half an hour now, looking for a specific bottle. He carefully scans the shelves, cerulean eyes searching through the different labels carefully, and still he can't find it. A pout crosses his face, and he hums in dissatisfaction. Maybe they've stopped selling it? Surely not...

"Hi sir! Can I help you find something?" The sound of a shop assistant interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to find an older lady in a store uniform, smiling up at him. She'd noticed him from afar, the tall man carrying a bouquet three times the size of his head in one arm and about a dozen gift bags in the other- he was hard to miss. Now, her gaze lands on the golden band on the ring finger of his left hand, and she attempts to connect the dots. "Is it an anniversary?"

Satoru shakes his head, a proud grin replacing his earlier pout. "Nah, I don't need a special occasion to surprise my wife - though I have forgotten the name of her favourite perfume..."

"It happens all the time!" The lady reassures him. "Could you describe the scent?"

Satoru hums. "Well... its like... watching the sunset, or being embraced by warmth, or thousands of compliments, and butterflies in your stomach.."

"I..." The shop assistant nods along, trying to help despite the fact that he's describing concepts rather than scents. Not to mention he isn't making much sense.

"Wait- actually I think I have a picture." Satoru takes his phone out and the shop assistant visibly relaxes. She takes one look at the picture he shows her, already knowing where to find the particular bottle. "She has good taste.."

"Don't I know it." Satoru grins more. He purchases the bottle, watching as the shop assistant carefully wraps it and places it in a gift bag with a nice little bow. He thanks the lady before leaving the shop, satisfied with the amount of gifts he's purchased today.

The sun is already low in the sky, and day will soon turn to night, but Satoru's day is far from over. He walks with a bounce in his step, whistling to himself and earning the attention of everyone who passes him by. But he doesn't pay them any mind, he's on a mission after all. The one he loves is waiting.

This route is familiar to him, so he isn't paying much attention. His mind replays the days events instead, from teaching classes to fighting curses, to his impromptu shopping trip. Around him, blossoms have started to grow on the trees. It'll be spring soon, longer days and warmer weather, a sign of new begins and good things to come.. right?

Its dusk by the time he reaches the room.

"Hey Angel, I'm sorry I took so long today."

He places the huge bouquet of flowers in a vase on the windowsill, next to the many other floral arrangements he's bought this week- it's starting to look like a florist shop in here, but you've always liked flowers so he doesn't care much. The more the better.

"You'll never believe what happened today. Get this, I walked into class, ready to teach the first years. Only they weren't there. Turns out all of them overslept." He chuckles, taking a seat. He places the various gift bags next to the chair. "I guess it's not too surprising, given there's only three of them. But it was funny listening to the three of them running down the hallway..."

But he gets no response. You're laying on the bed in front of him, resplendent as a painting, bathed in the golden light from the window. Like a sleeping doll. Just within reach yet so far away.

It has been two months. Two months since he'd heard your voice, or seen you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. Two months since you had been sent on a mission against that strange cursed spirit, only to go missing for two days, and when they'd found you.. you'd looked just like this. Completely unharmed but unresponsive. Not a scratch on your frame, but refusing to wake up.

Nobody knew what had happened to you. And the cursed spirit had vanished. Perhaps you'd exorcised it. After all it's not natural for a curse to leave a victim unharmed and flee, especially without a trace. But then why weren't you waking up?

He was told talking to you would help. So that's what he does. It's all he can do.

"They opened a new bakery near our place. Thought I think I'll wait for you, so we can go together. Don't make me wait too long, yeah?"

Satoru comes every day, as evidenced by all the flowers and cards and gifts. When you wake up, he wants you to be surrounded by things you love, things that make you happy. You've always loved flowers.

If he's not here, or working, he spends every free moment trying to track down the curse. Or figure out what happened, some way to bring you back. Goodness knows he's tried it all.

He watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest, reminding himself you're still alive. At least some part of you is still here, with him.

"You know.." his expression relaxes, eyes finally showing the sadness he's so desperately been trying to hide. "It's hard without you. The students miss you, and I do too, we're all worried about you..." he sighs.

"But don't worry about that, okay? Focus on getting better. Come back to me."

Satoru spends a few more hours here, telling you about his day, making a few jokes here and there, and filling you into the most recent episodes of the show you love. His voice fills the quiet room, and he tries to imagine what you might say if you were awake.

It's early morning by the time he leaves reluctantly, but work will start up again soon, and he has to get at least some sleep because he knows you'd be mad if you knew he wasn't resting. He leaves the gifts by your bedside. All except one bag, the small one with the little bow on the top. That one was actually a present for him.

Later, when he gets home, he'll spray a little on your side of the bed. That way, at least you'll appear in his dreams.

Seasonal depression has hit me like a truck this year. So now everyone else must suffer too. 😈

I hope you all enjoyed the angst! As usual this is not proofread, please don't point out my mistakes I'll cry.

Thank you for reading 🩵

Banners by @bunnysrph

[pretty-little-mind33]

I just wanted to ask if you could make headcanons about being in a relationship with Pietro (I don't remember if I already asked for that, and I'm sorry if I did, I'm not rushing you 😭😭), and another one with Sergai? It doesn't matter if it takes a while, I totally understand, and thank you for all your fics, I love them 💖💖💖

~ i hope you like this, darling 🫶 been on a tiny bit of a writers block so this headcanon list was a good thing to write! ~

• with Pietro, friends to lovers is the only way!

• he has trouble with his feelings. he has trouble understanding them because he becomes overwhelmed and so in the beginning, it's difficult.

• plus, he has trauma so loving someone else is hard for him— he doesn't like the possibility of loosing you like he lost his parents.

• so being your friend, becoming your best friend, is the first step!

• his love language is physical touch and quality time! He always has to be touching you in some way (his hand in yours, playing with your hair…) and he loves planning days out around the city with you!

• Pietro is very loving and he's also funny. he adores making you laugh and he'd do anything in his power to make you laugh when you're sad or crying or hurt (to distract you from the pain).

• once he's your boyfriend, the quality time becomes more domestic. he tries less—and not in a bad way. he's comfortable just laying around, reading or watching a show, and it's as good as planning a whole day like he used to (he would get himself worked up, the poor boy).

• when he does take you on dates, he goes all out now! He knows all your favorite things because he is observant so he'll take you to your favorite restaurant unprompted!

• Pietro's favorite way to spoil you is by doing things for you! He's very in tune with your emotions once he'd finally dating you!

• he never forgets an anniversary or a birthday, although you're worried he does because he's always spacey and all over the place 🥺 but he keeps a calendar specifically for your events, nothing else lmao.

• you and Wanda being friends is VERY important.

• he adores you and teaches you how to say things in Sokovian! he always teaches you about his culture and his traditions. it would take a while for him to open up, but once he does he doesn't hold back.

• he trusts you easily and he isn't jealous. he hates when other men flirt with you, but he is never jealous because he knows you are his and his alone!

• he is very protective over you though! like no one hurts his girl. ever.

* * *

warnings: mentions of sex

• i think the courting before the relationship would be involuntary stalker-ish 😭

• like he's obsessed with you. he can smell you everywhere! maybe he met you when he was visiting his brother in London and he hasn't stopped thinking about you and only you.

• for the first few months you don't even meet him and yet he's just there—watching. making sure you're safe.

• he never does anything weird or breach your privacy in ways that would make you hate him, he's just like your guardian angel 😏

• when he does talk to you, you're instantly intrigued. he's rugged and handsome and unlike any man you've ever met. you like him.

• your relationship starts with sex. you bring him to your apartment and have intense, weirdly passionate for someone you just met, sex.

• when you wake up, he's gone. but eventually he comes back with a pastry from a nearby shop and your relationship starts.

• Sergei is good at reading you and knowing what you're feeling without you needing to speak or ask him. he just knows.

• he visits London more than necessary to spend time with you, letting you be the second person on his phone 🥺

• he waits to tell you what he does for work. he doesn't want to scare you or make you feel unsafe.

• you are safe. you always are with him.

• once you know and you accept him for who he is, Sergei is wrapped around your pinky until you let him go. he would do anything for you.

• he has trust issues so whenever he starts an argument, it's because he was feeling a little insecure and didn't know how to bring up his feelings. his father never let him.

• he's never violent with you but he does yell in the beginning. which scares you, so he quickly learns to leave for a walk to calm down instead.

• you promise him that you aren't leaving him. he loves words of affirmation. he needs them because he hasn't heard many of them from his father.

• he's very gentle with you normally, touching you as if you are something to be worshiped. which he does. he worships you.

• his love language is gift giving. whenever he is away, he will always brings you back a present from his home in the woods. and it's always thoughtful.

• he will teach you some words in Russian and call you pet names in Russian.

• eventually, he asks you to move in with him. you're unsure because living in the woods is scary and you are afraid you'll miss your friends and family.

• Sergei doesn't force you. he tells you you don't have to decide immediately but he really wishes you will. but he's not forceful. he gives you time and he waits.

• when you decide you want to live with him eventually. and you don't regret it. Sergei is very devoted to you (he is very protective over you, duh). he also brings you back to London wherever you want, no hesitation.

[avianyuh]

Beautiful | Yuta Nakamoto

Summary: How do you avoid your boyfriend when you're having one of those "ugly" days?

word count: 1k

It was just one of those days. To put it blatantly, you were feeling ‘ugly’. Normally, on days like this you wouldn’t leave the house. Stay inside, wear one of your baggiest t-shirts and watch TV. Normally by the next morning you’d be feeling a lot better mentally and you’d resume life. Problem is, now you have a boyfriend. So it’s becoming increasingly harder to get in that alone time, especially on your ‘ugly’ days. 

This particular morning, after standing in front of the mirror for 10 minutes, staring at your reflection, squishing your face, rustling your hands through your hair, to no avail, your appearance wasn’t getting more attractive with each attempt to “depuff” your face and eyes or “volumize” your lifeless hair that seemed to look dull regardless of how many times you brushed through it. You felt like you had a weight in your stomach, seemingly feeling bloated all over your body. You didn’t want to be seen. All you wanted to do was cancel your plans and go back to bed and sleep an extra hour or two.

But before you could do that you had to cancel your date with Yuta. Upon dialing his number, he picked up on the second ring. “Baby? Everything okay, I’m heading to your place in a few minutes.” You felt your heart rate increase as you started to feel guilty. You knew this was his one free week this month, normally he’s so busy, but you knew you wouldn’t be any fun in your current state, especially with how sluggish you felt mentally. 

“Uh, Yuta I’m sorry this is so last minute but I woke up this morning and I didn’t feel good…Maybe you should keep your distance from me until I feel better.” It was a half truth. You weren’t necessarily sick, but you also didn’t feel your best. 

“What’s wrong? Is your throat sore? Is it your stomach?”, he grilled you for answers, his voice laced with concern for your well being evident. You raked your brain for a believable answer, you really did hate lying but you felt that if you told the truth he would find your reason stupid. You also didn’t want your very attractive boyfriend to see you in your not so attractive state. 

“A little of everything…”you murmured, trying to sound sick. The line was silent for a few seconds before he responded. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll drop by anyways just to check up on you.” Your eyes went wide as you started to plead with him. 

“No,no, Yuta please I’m okay, I just really don’t want you to get sick.”  Again, the line went silent for a few seconds before he started to speak again. 

“If you insist,” he sighed. “I love you” he said as he told you he’d check in later in the day. You threw the phone down on your bed as you let out a shaky breath, thanking the universe for letting that go relatively well. You proceeded with your routine as normal. Big t-shirt, parked on the couch and ready to watch TV. A few hours into your day of hiding, you heard a knock at the door. Now considering you had placed a takeout order, you assumed that was who was standing outside. But to your surprise upon opening the door, you were not met with the delivery driver, but your boyfriend. 

He stood there with a big smile, as you gasped. “Y/N, I know you said I shouldn’t come over but you really got me worried. I just had to make sure you were okay.” Yuta explained as he stepped inside and pulled you into a hug. He kissed the top of your forehead before placing the back of his hand on the side of your cheek. “Hm.” He hummed as he performed the same action on your other cheek. ‘You don’t feel warm, so I guess that’s a good sign.” He grabbed your hand as he led you back to the couch. He covered you back in your blanket you had tossed to the other end when you got up to answer the door. “Have you eaten yet?” He inquired as he sat next to you. He was as close to you as he possibly could be, which you found amusing considering he was under the impression that you were sick, yet he didn’t seem to care about his own health at all. He was just so focused on getting all of the facts from you. 

“I ordered some food, that’s who I thought was at the door.” You answered. 

“That’s good, that means you have an appetite.” He nodded approvingly. “So what is it then that’s bothering you? Do we have to go to the doctors?” His eyes stared into your own with so much intensity and concern. You felt like you could crack at any moment as the guilt started to creep in for lying to him. You let out a frustrated sigh as you shook your head no. 

“Yuta I’m fine. I think I’m just having an off day.” He caressed your cheek with one hand as he moved you in closer with the other. 

“Was that it all along? So you’re not sick?” He smiled as you hid your face in his shoulder. 

“Sometimes I feel kinda bad about myself and I really wasn’t feeling confident enough to see you today. I feel sort of…ugly?” You explained, face still buried in his shoulder so your explanation came out kind of muffled. Yuta lifted your head up so you were looking at him. 

“How could you ever be ugly? You’re gorgeous.” He whispered as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kisses were gentle against your lips. Slowly, he started to trail his kisses down your chin, then even further down to your neck. Suddenly, all of those doubts, all of those negative feelings you woke up with, were beginning to fade as his kisses traveled further and further down your body. HIs hands intertwined with yours. You had never felt so beautiful. 

{A/N: Basically, when I have writer's block, the only man who can get me out of my procrastination is Yuta. Been loyal to that BEAUTIFUL man since 2018 lmao. I know I've been writing a lot of BTS and SVT stories lately and I've been having a lot of fun (thank you for all of the engagement, you guys really now how to make a girl feel special💓) But the only person I really want to write for in NCT is Yuta and occasionally Jaehyun at this point. Considering the past year, I have trust issues with NCT. But in February, expect more BTS, SVT and idk maybe another group. As always mwahhhh💋}

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Consumerism

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Pop Star! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

She was accustomed to the city—the endless shopping, the fleeting dopamine rush that came from spending copious amounts of money on items she’d probably use only once. Her bank account could handle it; as a very famous pop star, it was almost expected of her.

During one of Seb’s visits to her apartment—now more frequent as their relationship deepened—he couldn’t help but notice the abundance of PR packages and shopping bags cluttering the entrance of her penthouse.

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “So, uh… are you starting a boutique, or is this just your personal collection?” he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolled her eyes, setting her handbag down on the marble countertop. “Funny,” she said, walking past him toward the kitchen. “It’s not that much.”

Sebastian followed her, a mock look of disbelief on his face. “Not that much? Love, there’s enough here to open a department store. Do you even know what’s in half of those boxes?”

She turned to face him, her expression half-amused, half-defensive. “Of course I do! Well… most of it,” she admitted, glancing back at the pile. “It’s just PR stuff and a little shopping.”

Sebastian crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe, his lips quirking into a teasing smile as he gestured toward the pile of shopping bags near the entrance. “A little shopping?” he repeated, his tone dripping with amused disbelief. “Are you starting a boutique or something?”

She rolled her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. “Nope. Nope, don’t even start. You are not going to give me one of your ‘do you really need all of this?’ talks today, Mr. Vettel.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, his blue eyes sparkling with that infuriating mix of charm and earnestness that always made her listen, even when she didn’t want to. “I mean, I’m just saying… do you even remember what’s in half of these bags? Or is it just about the dopamine rush of hitting ‘buy now’?”

She huffed, feigning indignation. “Okay, first of all, rude. And second of all, yes, I do remember. Mostly.” She faltered for a moment, glancing at the pile. “Probably.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, his grin widening. “You know, this isn’t the first time you’ve said that. Didn’t we have the same conversation about that fancy juicer you bought last month? The one that’s still in the box?”

She shot him a playful glare. “You know, I liked you a lot better before you started being right all the time.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping even closer, his teasing tone softening. “You’ve already let me talk you out of half a dozen things. What’s one more?”

She groaned, but there was no real fight in it, because he had already changed her mind on so much. His integrity—his annoying, unwavering integrity—had a way of making her question the habits she once thought were harmless. And, in a way, it was infuriating how much happier and more grounded she felt because of him.

“That’s mansplaining,” she joked, acting offended, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“Sure, it is,” he said with sarcasm, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “But you know I’m right. And admit it—you kind of like that about me.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Maybe. But don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Deal. I’ll take that as a win. Now, how about we move some of this stuff out of the hallway before it becomes a fire hazard?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she nudged him playfully. “You’re unbearable.”

“Bur you still keep me around,” he said with a wink, grabbing one of the bags to help her.

“Yeah,” she said softly, watching him with a small, affectionate smile. “I really do.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Lover and Love

Part 1 | AO3 | *This is a story told in scenes and can be read in any order though is listed in chronological order on the masterlist.

CW: Discussion of suicide and ideation

You had a friend that had three cats. Well, she said she had three cats. You had only ever met two of them, her third little floof lived in the basement bathroom. Phoebe, as she was called, needed a lot of space and appreciated a warm sunbeam that she didn’t have to share. Simon reminded you a lot of Phoebe.

He had taken the room closest to the back, poised best for dusk light to illuminate his space. Hiding away became, or maybe had always been, a strong tendency when he got overwhelmed. The poly-q, by unspoken agreement, would take turns visiting with him in his room when he tried to self-isolate.

Something had happened on their last job. No one would tell you about it but John moved with a slowness that hadn’t been there when he had left. Simon disappeared after a hello kiss and hadn’t been seen since. That was yesterday.

Worrying over your guys had become as intrinsic as breathing. You knew that by Johnny spending the night in your bed, Simon had asked for space. Flicking on the kettle you readied a mug for Simon. Tea steeped with milk and sugar added, you went in search of him.

Simon sat mired in memories. Christmas was coming again, and they had nearly lost John on their last mission. The near miss boiled up in his mind until every other near miss, and person he’d lost ringed him like ghosts with reprimand and disgust on their faces.

Lost to the dregs of death in his mind Simon did not hear you come in.

Simon’s room always smelled of him and faintly of the pillow spray Kyle had bought him a few months back. He stared into the middle distance, somewhere you couldn’t reach or follow. Setting his mug on the nightstand you climb onto the bed. His back is against the headboard with his legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. You match his positioning, resting your knees against his shins.

In an offhanded comment, Simon once mentioned he thought he might develop arthritis in his hands with how badly they could ache sometimes. Thinking over that comment now you lift one of his hands and begin to gently massaging it. The limb is heavy without his will behind it.

Humming to yourself you work up his hand, into his wrist, and over part of his forearm before gently setting it back and repeating the process with his second hand. Flexion from his fingers as you work on his wrist warns you that he has joined you in the room.

“Almost done, can you stay relaxed for me, Simon?” Keeping your focus on his arm you work at the muscles under your fingers.

By way of an answer, he lets a deep breath slip out through his nose and shifts his head to watch you better. Both of you enjoy the quiet presence of the other. When you set his hand down in his lap and look at his face tears rim his eyes.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

His lip quivers the barest hint as he asks, “Lay with me?”

Pushing your hands into the mattress you shift to one side, stretching out as you wait for Simon to get settled. It takes some maneuvering but soon enough you are both laid out comfortably. Simon curls behind you, knees tucked tight to yours and his bicep cushioning your head. You interlace fingers with the hand draped over your waist.

“Do you remember,” he started slowly. “The day you came through the ceiling?”

The snort is involuntary. “Yes. I remember going through the floor and landing on your lap after I gave you a bloody nose.”

Simon laughs through his nose before sobering.

“I was contemplating suicide that day.”

His arms tighten around as if he was expecting you to try and roll over and look at him. You tried to move to look at him anyway.

“Can’t keep telling you if you look at me,” he murmurs, shame lacing his words.

That settles you, a deep shuddering breath and you let the tension melt back into your bones.

“Contemplating or planning?” You question him carefully.

“Contemplating, but had you not come through the ceiling when you did it might have turned into an executed plan.”

You take a slow, deep breath ensuring that your ribs expand fully before replying.

“Are you feeling that way again?” Probing gently with your words.

He pulls you closer even as his head shakes back and forth.

“No, no, nothing like that. The holidays are getting closer and it brings a lot of bad to the surface. With nearly losing John, the melancholy, it hit a bit harder than normal.”

“We all love you, Simon. You don’t have to banish yourself to the demons and ghosts to deal with your pain. Any, all of us would drop anything to come and fight them back with you,” you say tearfully. Blinking rapidly a few tears land on Simon’s arm beneath your head.

“I know. Sometimes…sometimes I forget how loved I am. I don’t deserve it.” He whispers this as if you don’t know this is how he thinks of himself.

A knock at the door draws both your gazes to it as Johnny appears. The softest of smiles plays at his lips as he looks over you and Simon.

“Got room for a third?”

“Always room for you Johnny,” you wipe your eyes as you sit up and scoot to allow for room.

Simon shifted to his back, you settling on one shoulder and Johnny on the other. Interlacing fingers over Simon’s stomach you challenge Johnny to a thumb war. He wins, again and again, but you laugh each time.

The mug of tea had gone cold by the time you remembered to tell Simon about it. He thanked you for it anyway and pressed a kiss to your forehead, saying all his thanks in that single point of connection.

“Are you feeling better Simon?”

“Yeah, I think all I needed was some time with my lover and my love.”

Masterlist | Fallen Angel Masterlist

@lilynotdilly

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: As tranquility settles over your life, you wrestle with your feelings for Joel.

Warnings: Langauge, Joel's not-so-secret porn magazine stash.

Word Count: 2k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

June 2024

Peace. It was something so rare in this post-apocalyptic world you lived in now. Despite its rarity, it is something you experience regularly now.

Your days had become calm and almost uneventful. It'd been nearly a month since Adam had shown up in Jackson and Joel had killed The Walrus for you. Whoever The Walrus had as allies in Kansas never showed up. There were round-the-clock patrols still going but Tommy and Joel had both told you many times that they weren't going to show.

Despite the inherent peace, you were still on edge. You knew Adam was dead, you had watched Joel drag his body off into the woods. The Walrus had been tortured and killed yet here you were, still scared that they might appear and rip you away from Jackson in the middle of the night.

These fears had landed where you were now. Instead of staying in your own home like the grown adult you were supposed to be, you had taken up residence on Joel's couch. The past three nights had been spent tossing and turning on the soft cushions. You weren't sure what it was, perhaps fear, or maybe just general loneliness but you found yourself, lying beside him in his bed.

There is a full moon tonight, it shines through the curtains and illuminates the room. The soft creak of the floorboards under your feet alerts him to your presence.

"What's wrong?" He mumbles, barely awake

"I'm cold." You whisper from his doorway.

It's a half-baked excuse, both of you know it's a lie. It's happened three times now, you tiptoe upstairs from the couch and make up some excuse to wiggle your way into his bed.

"Let's get you warmed up then."

The duvet shifts and you shuffle across the room to slip under the covers. You turn on your side to face him, your head resting on his pillow.

"Warm?"

"Mmhm."

"Good."

Joel had yet to address this newfound closeness. You weren't sure what to make of it, all you knew was that you felt safer under his covers listening to his snores.

Luck was never something you could claim to be blessed with. Even at the end of the world, you were unlucky. Todays bad luck once again manifested in the form of the mouth of one spitfired teenage girl.

"So, are you and Joel y'know, together?"

The question has you nearly choking on the glass of water you were sipping on. Ellie was standing across from you in the kitchen, still in her pajamas asking the most embarrassing questions possible.

Joel sighs and plugs his coffee maker in, pressing the start button before turning around to look at Ellie.

"Quit askin' questions and go brush your teeth."

Ellie's footsteps disappear upstairs as she mumbles something under her breath. Joel passes you a steaming mug of coffee before speaking again,

"Got a late-night patrol tonight."

You nod. Late-night patrols meant that he'd be returning in the early hours of the morning, there was no point in waiting up for him to beckon you under the warm duvet of his bed.

"I'm working in the Greenhouse later, going to visit Maria and baby Cailey first."

Joel nods, "I can come by later. You're harvesting potatoes today right?"

"Yeah," You say, "But don't you wanna relax today? We'll have to dig all the plants up, harvest, and then reseed them."

Joel's mouth quirks up into a small smile, "I can think of nothin' more relaxing than digging in the dirt with you."

You roll your eyes and turn away to dig in the fridge for eggs, hiding your blush behind the door as you push a jar of jam out of the way. He was so flirtatious these days, it drove you crazy.

"I don't know what I should do..." You sigh

Baby Cailey coos at his mother as she places him into a small pack n' play someone had hunted down.

"Why not just embrace it?"

Maria made it seem so simple. Embracing the way Joel would flirt with you, it was easier said than done. Truthfully, you were scared. Scratch that you were fucking terrified. You were terrified that it would all be snatched away from you in the middle of the night. Terrified that Adam would rise from his grave in the forest and break into Joel's home in the middle of the night. You were terrified of Joel getting cold feet the way he did twenty some years ago.

"You're insane." You point out, leaning back into her sofa.

She shakes her head in disbelief, "I get it, you're scared."

God, it's like she was in your mind reading your thoughts.

"Look, when Tommy first started asking me out I was scared too. Hell, I avoided him for nearly half a year just because I was scared."

A smile spreads across your face. You remember those days, Tommy had been so distraught whenever Maria would magically disappear from the Tipsy Bison after he tried to approach her.

"We can't let fear rule our lives. In a world like this, we have to live life to the fullest." She says

"And you think by fawning over Joel, I'm living my life to the fullest?" You question

"I do, but don't you already do that?"

You scoff and avoid Maria's smug gaze, she certainly thought she had everything all figured out over there.

"Two weeks ago, you told me you loved his biceps." Maria points out

"I was drunk." You dismiss her comment with a wave of your hand

"Off one glass of wine? Didn't know you were such a lightweight." She smiles

"Yeah, well. I guess I'm getting old." You lie, you definitely weren't drunk.

That had been the day Joel had pushed the couch across the living room and then lifted the TV into a new corner so there was less of a glare when Ellie watched her movies during the daytime. Your jaw nearly hit the floor as you watched from your spot at the kitchen table. God the muscles on that man had to be illegal.

"I don't like Joel. Didn't like him when Tommy first told me about him, still don't really like him now." Maria admits

"Yet you're pushing us together?" You look at her like she's lost it.

"I want to see you happy though." She says earnestly, "Plus, he's my brother-in-law so I feel like that gives me some moral obligation to see that he's living a good life."

You groan and fiddle with a loose thread on the couch cushions.

"It also helps that you act all, well, giddy when he's around."

"I do not!" You say

"Sure you do. It's like your normal personality leaves the room and you're laughing and teasing Joel like you two are high school sweethearts."

You scoff and turn your attention to Cailey who smiles at you when you peer over the edge of the pack n' play. She's got big brown eyes and tufts of dark curly hair atop her head. You're pretty sure Maria had created her all on her own since it looked like Tommy's genes had just given up in the womb.

"She's got your eyes." You point out, turning the topic of conversation.

Maria smiles at the way you observe her baby, "She's got my everything. Tommy was hoping she'd look a bit like him."

"Why? He wants to curse a baby with a life of torture?" You tease

Maria laughs and gently kicks your shin as punishment for bad-mouthing her husband.

"Is she sleeping through the night yet?" You ask.

You don't know much about babies, most of your knowledge came from high school health class when an old teacher named Mr. Klein had droned on and on about how teen pregnancy was the devil reincarnate and that you'd all die if you didn't use condoms.

"If she was, you think I'd look like this?" Maria gestures to her mismatched outfit and unbrushed hair. Her eyes look a bit dull as she stares down at her baby. Truthfully though, even with her odd clothes and sleepless face, Maria looks good.

"I think you look fine." You muse, "Pretty even."

Maria scoffs, "Now you sound like Tommy."

"Well, at least he's right about something."

The greenhouse is humid today. You kneel in the dirt and pull at the tops of the potato plants, ready to reveal the harvest.

"Look at that view!"

You groan and sit back on your knees, your partner for the day is Janet, an older woman who seems to never keep her mouth shut. Her choppy white gray hairs glimmer in the sunlight as she checks the tomato plants. She has to be at least in her mid-70s yet she moved better than you some days.

"Knock it off." You huff in embarrassment

"I'm not the one with those jeans on." She muses, "You said Joel is coming by soon? You're gonna give him a heart attack like that!"

"You're so weird." You sigh plopping a nice-sized potato into the basket on your left

"I know what men think." Janet points to her temple and then to your ass, "Joel is going to lose his-"

You toss a handful of soil at her when the greenhouse door opens, and Joel steps in.

Janet sends you a sly wink as you and Joel kneel in the dirt together, unrooting potatoes beside each other. She also lewdly picks up an eggplant and shakes it in the air when Joel lifts the heavy basket with ease to dump it into a wheelbarrow. You roll your eyes, how has your life become like this?

After nearly three hours of digging in the dirt, you and Joel are on the way back to his home. Your shoulder brushes his and a tingle shoots down your spine. Even now, covered in dirt and stinking of sweat Joel Miller is devastatingly beautiful.

"You sure you're not too tired for patrol tonight?" You ask shyly

"I'll be fine." Joel assures you, "I wanted to give Ellie the house, she and her friend Dina are havin' some Star Wars marathon today."

You nod. You like Dina, she's nice and helps you clean the dishes whenever Ellie invites her over for dinner. Ellie seems to be more content talking the girl's ears off instead of actually scraping the leftovers into Tupperware bins.

"There's nothing worse than an adult hanging around a teenage girl hangout." You smile and elbow Joel's side gently

Joel looks over at you, taking in the wide grin on your dirt-smudged face. You sound like you're alluding to Ellie and Dina getting into trouble together.

"Well, now you're makin' me nervous." He huffs

"You should be." You tease, "You don't even wanna know what my friends and I were discussing at that age."

Joel shakes his head in disapproval, "Don't do that."

"Do what?" You laugh

"Tease me. Ellie isn't at home gigglin' over some...TigerBeat magazine filled with stupid pictures of Ralph Macchio or somethin'. "

"Or is she?" You over-exaggerate your gasp, "What if she got into your porn stash?"

You'd found it one day while Joel was off repairing something at the bar. Under his bed in a shoebox, you had pulled it out, wanting to sweep the dust bunnies from under the bedframe. And, as they say, curiosity killed the cat, before you knew it you were opening the shoebox to reveal three old porn magazines that had to have been from the 80s and 90s.

You had picked one of them up, it was clearly well-loved and flipped through it. Most of it was rather tame, at least compared to some of the stuff that had been on the internet before the fall. One dogeared page caught your eye, A man had a woman on top of him, legs on either side of his hips as she rode him. You couldn't help but notice the remarkable resemblance she bore to you.

"I don't have a porn stash." Joel scoffs, refusing to look at you all of a sudden, yup he was guilty.

"Then what's in the shoebox under your bed?" You ask innocently

Joel's ears have begun to go red as he keeps pace with you, "You're awful, y'know that."

"Don't be a prude." You laugh, "it's natural, Joel."

"Oh is it?" Joel suddenly looks at you, a glint of well, evil in his eye, "That mean you got a stash of your own, baby?"

It's your turn to blush now. Joel had just dubbed a new nickname on you. Baby. Baby. Fuck you liked, no loved the way it sounded coming off his lips. God, it was so him, calling you that.

"No, pervert." You scoff

"You're the one who brought it up, if anything that makes you the pervert." He teases

You huff and cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable. How'd he turn this into a conversation to tease you? And that new nickname, fuck you wanted to climb right on top of him right here in the middle of Jackson. Instead, you send him a glare,

"You're so annoying."

"Thanks, baby."

Next Part

Ugh, they're so cute, I want to eat them.

My college semester started back up. I'm shaking in my boots and it's only syllabus week :(

Shout out to @heartpatch for inspiring me to introduce the baby nickname.

May I present, what I expect out of TLOU season 2:

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly  @orcasoul  @snowlycanroc  @freythecrazyfae

@person-005 @greenwitchfromthewoods

@elli3williams @yawnzzzzzzzz @am-3-thyst  @concrete-jungleeee

@cherrypieyourface  @kanyewestest @bambisweethearts

@sarahhxx03 @loveisacowboyyy @amyispxnk @lou-la-lou @dancinglotusbud @superblyspeedydragon @heartpatch

[imagines4thefandoms]

First Fall of Snow

Bruce x reader; reader experiences her first Snow Day.

Wrote this cause hell froze over in Louisiana and we got SNOW SNOW

15k words pure fluff

Bruce has lived in Gotham for his entire life so he wasn’t new to snow. After 30 years he is tired of Gotham snow days. The snow is annoying. Closing down the streets(temporarily) and no matter how many snow days they experience Gothamites forget how to function. It's too cold and when he goes outside he feels like his 1 minute away from frostbite. 

The kids felt the same. It's just snow, nothing special. Maybe they would go outside for a very intense snowball fight but after 30 minutes they were all back inside doing their own thing. They appreciated the canceled school and the time off work but they were no longer excited like when they were younger. 

You on the other hand were so excited. You lived in the far south where it never snowed and this would be the first time you experienced it. When you told Bruce, he suggested you stay with him so he knew you were safe had plenty of food, and didn’t need to venture out into unfamiliar terrain. 

The night before you kept glancing out the window waiting for the snow to start falling. Watching your excitement brought a smile to Bruce’s face. Ever since he met you it was like you awoken the childlike side of him. He danced in the rain, sang in the shower, and danced while getting ready in the morning. Hell, he even started smiling while in the suit. Clark froze when he first saw him smile at the watch tower. 

The kids have noticed the change too. He goes easy on them but during training lets them take a night off or hell asks them to patrol in his place so he can take you out. When Bruce asked Jason he was stunned. It was the first time Bruce asked him to cover his patrol. Bruce normally asked Dick or even Tim, but it seemed like Bruce was more trusting of Jason since you started dating. 

Jason followed Bruce to your apartment. Watched as he held you and nursed you back to health. After that night the whole house knew about you. Jason needed help with the constant teasing he was ready to dish. They bugged him to officially meet her. For weeks they followed you on dates and subconsciously perched on your apartment building roof. If they were asked it was a coincidence, but in reality they were already protective of their father's girlfriend. 

On Labor Day, you finally went to his place for a family BBQ. You were engulfed in hugs by everyone. They thanked you for making Bruce more bearable and less Brucey. Of course just cause they liked how you changed him didn’t mean you were exempt from a full-on interrogation. They wanted to know everything. Your name, age, birthday, place of birth, why you moved to Gotham, what you did for work, and if you had any pets. 

Bruce pried you away from them when they started to ask if you had a criminal record. He gave you a sheepish smile as an apology but you just laughed. You adored how protective they were of him. Even though Bruce worries how he’s doing a terrible job as a father, they prove him wrong with their antics. 

Ever since that night, you spend more time at the manor than you did at your apartment. You rarely spent the night there, it was always at your place but it didn’t bother you. This would be the first time you spent the night at his place in the 6 months you were dating. And honestly, you were more excited about the projected snow than spending the night at his place. 

Since Bruce knew you never experienced snow before, he got you everything you needed: a thick winter coat, snowshoes, gloves, a scarf, and a hat. He also made sure to grab some thermal underwear and long sleeves. When you insisted that your sweater and leather jacket with two pairs of leggings would be enough, he didn’t argue. He was just going to let you experiment, but your coat will be here waiting for when you change your mind. 

When you woke up, Bruce was still in bed but was sitting up reading something on his phone with a cup of coffee. You stretched popping some bones then rolled over so your arm was across his lap. He placed his coffee on his nightstand and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. Bruce chuckled when you groaned about how it was cold. He pulled you up so he could properly hold you and you just buried yourself in his body heat. 

It took a few minutes for you to fully wake up but when you did you remembered it was supposed to snow today. You jumped out of bed faster than a kid on Christmas day and quickly got dressed in your version of snow clothes. Bruce made you calm down so he could get dressed but you were too excited and just ran out of his room and to the front door. The kids were in the living room watching TV when you started jumping with excitement. They looked at you with confusing looks but laughed when you giggled about the snow. 

Bruce called your name but you opened the door and ran outside before he could catch up to you. The entire yard was covered in snow. You couldn’t tell where the driveway was and where the actual grass was. The bitter wind slammed into your face turning your face bright red, but you were too busy laughing to care. 

You looked up at the sky and tried to catch snowflakes, then you just collapsed in the snow to make a snow angel. Bruce stepped over to you and blocked the sun as he stared down at you with a smile. You held your hands up for him to help you up without destroying your snow angel. As you stood up you slipped on some ice but Bruce caught you. Once you got your footing you turned away and stared at your creation. 

Bruce thought about how he was so lucky to have you in his life. This pure ball of energy that has on more than one occasion literally knocked him off his feet. You were looking around for the perfect place to start building a snowman when he got an idea. He texted the boys and they quickly came out to help him. While you were distracted, Bruce picked up some snow and formed a snowball. After making sure it was packed tight, he threw it at you hitting your shoulder. 

You turned around and saw all of them standing in front of tiny piles of snowballs. Another snowball hit you in the face and you just burst into laughter. You could hear Tim apologize over and over again but you weren’t mad. Jason threw two at Tim to get revenge and then an all-out snowball fight erupted. Jason and Dick were on your team while Bruce, Tim, and Damien were on the other. 

Jason quickly built a fort to hide behind and you helped make as many snowballs as you could. They weren’t the best but they weren’t terrible for your first snowball ever. You hit Tim on the arm and Damien on the leg, while you got hit all over. If there was a reward for the world's worst snowball player it would go to you, but you were having the time of your life. 

Alfred called everyone in for soup, but you decided to get the last laugh. Bruce turned to make sure you were coming inside when you threw a snowball in his face. It didn’t hit him hard but it took him by surprise and knocked him on his ass. You let out a short laugh then ran over to see if he was ok. But you slipped on some ice again and fell on top of him. 

Bruce started laughing, like a deep belly laugh. Everyone just froze. When was the last time Bruce laughed like that? Alfred couldn’t remember. The kids know they never heard that kind of laugh. You slowly got off him and held your hand out to help him up. Doing so almost knocked you on your ass but Bruce kept you steady. His arm was around your waist and he pulled you close to him. He quickly kissed your wind-bitten nose and brought you inside to defrost. 

Bruce had to promise that he would help you build a snowman later just so you would step inside. The next time you went out, you put on the coat Bruce got you. The rest of the day consisted of multiple snowmen and snow angels then going inside to warm up then back outside. By bedtime, Bruce had to carry you to his room cause you passed out on the couch. You mumbled something about playing in the snow again tomorrow, and for the first time since he was a kid, Bruce was excited for another snow day. 

[mamaguroheartstoji]

bunny kisses 🐇 & pancake mornings 🥞 with fushiguro fam 🤍✨

the soft glow of early morning light spilled into the bedroom. mamaguro was still half-asleep, curled under the blanket, when she felt a tiny hand patting her face.

“mama,” came the little voice, insistent but garbled with sleep.

she cracked open one eye to see baby megumi sitting up beside her, his black hair sticking up in every direction like a little bird's nest. he had one of his plushies clutched in his arms—a floppy-eared bunny she’d sewn for him—and his big blue-green eyes blinked at her expectantly.

“good morning, sweetheart,” mamaguro murmured, brushing her fingers through his messy hair.

toji, sprawled out on the other side of the bed, let out a loud snore, earning a giggle from megumi. the little boy turned toward his dad, crawling clumsily over to him.

“papa!” megumi declared, plopping down on toji’s chest.

toji groaned, one eye cracking open to see his son grinning down at him. “gumi, buddy, it’s too early for this,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

but megumi wasn’t deterred. he leaned down, pressing his tiny hands to toji’s cheeks, smooshing them together as he giggled. “wake up, papa!”

mamaguro laughed softly from her side of the bed. “looks like someone’s decided it’s time to start the day.”

toji let out a dramatic sigh, pulling megumi into his arms and rolling onto his back, the little boy squealing in delight. “you’re lucky you’re cute, kid,” toji said, smirking as he tickled megumi’s sides, earning more giggles.

megumi squirmed, holding his bunny tight as he buried his face in toji’s chest. “papa, nooo!”

“papa, yes,” toji teased, tickling him one last time before letting him go.

mamaguro propped herself up on one elbow, watching the two of them with a soft smile. “you two are a handful, you know that?”

toji glanced over at her, grinning. “you love it.”

“maybe,” she admitted, reaching out to scoop megumi into her arms. she kissed his chubby cheek, making him giggle again.

“mama,” megumi said softly, leaning his head against her shoulder, his little hand clutching her shirt.

toji sat up, ruffling megumi’s hair. “all right, let’s get breakfast going. pancakes, little guy?”

megumi’s eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands. “’cakes!”

“you spoil him,” mamaguro said with a mock sigh, standing up with megumi in her arms.

toji smirked, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they headed to the kitchen. “yeah, but he’s worth it.”

the kitchen was a cozy mess of warm light and the faint smell of coffee. mamaguro settled into a chair with baby megumi on her lap, his bunny still firmly in his grasp. he babbled happily, occasionally pointing at random things on the table.

toji stood at the stove, wearing an apron mamaguro had insisted he buy months ago. it was black with the words "grill master" printed on it—a little over the top for pancakes, but he wore it anyway.

“watch and learn, gumi,” toji said, flipping a pancake with a little too much flair.

megumi clapped his tiny hands together, clearly impressed by his dad’s “technique.” mamaguro hid a smile behind her hand.

“you know,” she teased, “the goal is to keep the pancake in the pan, not send it flying across the room.”

toji glanced back, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “have some faith, woman. i’ve got this.”

just as he said it, the next pancake flipped… and landed half out of the pan. toji froze, his hand hovering in midair as mamaguro burst into laughter.

“got this, huh?” she said between giggles.

toji sighed dramatically, scraping the half-flipped pancake back into the pan. “you’re setting me up for failure here. the kid’s watching; he’s gonna think i’m an amateur.”

megumi, oblivious to his dad’s plight, was more interested in chewing on his bunny’s ear.

“i think he’s more concerned about breakfast arriving soon,” mamaguro said, gently bouncing megumi on her knee.

“all right, all right,” toji grumbled, focusing on the pan again. after a few more successful flips, he finally had a respectable stack of pancakes. he plated them with a flourish, adding a dollop of butter and a drizzle of syrup.

“voilà,” he said, setting the plate down in front of mamaguro and megumi. “breakfast, courtesy of chef toji.”

megumi reached for the plate immediately, babbling excitedly. mamaguro grabbed his little hands just in time. “hold on, sweetheart. it’s hot.”

toji sat down across from them, watching as mamaguro carefully cut up a pancake into tiny pieces for megumi.

“you spoil him,” toji said with a smirk, mimicking her earlier words.

“he’s worth it,” mamaguro replied, a playful glint in her eyes as she handed megumi a tiny fork.

megumi managed to stab a piece of pancake and shove it into his mouth, syrup smearing across his cheek. he looked up at toji with wide, delighted eyes.

“good?” toji asked, leaning forward.

“good!” megumi replied around a mouthful of pancake.

toji grinned, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “that’s my boy.”

mamaguro watched them with a warm smile, her heart full as her two favorite people shared a quiet, simple moment together.

after breakfast, the kitchen was a sticky war zone of syrup smears and a plate with half-eaten pancake bits strewn about. megumi, with syrup on his cheeks, hands, and somehow even his hair, sat in mamaguro’s lap, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d caused.

“you know,” mamaguro started, dabbing at megumi’s face with a damp cloth, “if you’re going to call yourself a chef, maybe you could also learn to clean like one.”

toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “hey, my job was pancakes. cleaning’s extra.”

she gave him a mock glare, her lips twitching upward in a smile. “extra, huh? should we count how many pancakes landed halfway out of the pan?”

toji grinned, standing and stretching. “fine, fine. i’ll handle it.” he grabbed a towel and started wiping down the counters, glancing over at them as he worked.

“you know,” he said, smirking, “gumi’s already showing promise. he liked my cooking more than yours.”

“oh, really?” mamaguro said, raising an eyebrow.

toji pointed toward megumi, who was chewing on his bunny’s ear. “look at that face. that’s the face of a satisfied customer.”

megumi chose that moment to let out a small hiccup, which was immediately followed by a bubbly giggle.

“case closed,” toji declared, tossing the towel onto the counter.

“you’re ridiculous,” mamaguro said with a laugh, standing up with megumi in her arms. she kissed the top of megumi’s head, sticky hair and all, then turned to toji. “your satisfied customer needs a bath.”

“hey, it’s only fair if i made breakfast, you take bath duty,” toji teased, leaning against the counter.

mamaguro rolled her eyes. “it’s bath duty, not a death sentence.”

but toji was already moving toward her, taking megumi from her arms. “nah, i’ll handle it. gumi and i have a system, right, kid?”

megumi stared up at him, blinking slowly before reaching for toji’s nose.

“see?” toji said with a grin. “teamwork.”

the bathroom was soon filled with the sound of splashing water and megumi’s giggles. mamaguro lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched them.

toji knelt by the tub, rolling up his sleeves as he carefully poured water over megumi’s head. the little boy squealed, splashing water everywhere, including directly onto toji’s face.

“gumi,” toji said, wiping his face with a hand, “you trying to drown me here?”

megumi just laughed, kicking his legs in the water.

“he’s a menace,” mamaguro said, her voice filled with affection.

toji glanced back at her, water dripping from his chin. “he gets it from you.”

“sure he does,” she said, crossing her arms.

toji turned back to megumi, who was now busy chewing on the edge of a rubber duck. “all right, buddy, let’s finish this up before your mama decides to frame me for war crimes.”

megumi just babbled in response, completely at ease in his dad’s hands.

after the bath, megumi was wrapped in a fluffy towel, his hair sticking up in soft tufts. mamaguro took him from toji and began drying him off, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks as he squirmed in her arms.

“you’re all clean now, aren’t you, sweetheart?” she cooed.

toji watched them, leaning against the doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder. “you know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “we’ve got a pretty good thing here.”

mamaguro looked up, meeting his eyes. there was a softness there, a rare vulnerability that made her chest ache.

“yeah,” she said, smiling at him. “we do.”

toji stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “thanks for putting up with me,” he murmured.

“always,” she said softly, resting her head against his shoulder as megumi yawned in her arms.

it was these small, quiet moments that she held onto—messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect in their own way.

[themayomambo]

THIS ALL OF THIS

BUT ALSO

She knew she'd outlive Shepard, of course, but I think what drove her over the edge was the amount of time she was able to be with them. It's safe for Liara to assume Shepard is the best of humanity, the council literally chose them as the first human spectre, they are at the top of Alliance military skill level, and they seemed untouchable to her. Time and time again, Liara had the opportunity to witness Shepard survive and surpass things no other being in the galaxy could endure. I think Liara fell into a false sense of security that their time together would last many years later.

And then Liara watches her die, not at the end of another hundred years, not after decades, not even after years, but months.

The Normandy had become her new home, romance or not. She stays after the events of ME1 and just as much a part of the crew as when they were after Saren. Then she watches her home get blasted to bits and the one person that made it all happened was destroyed alongside it.

Liara knows what it's like to be alone, even said she prefers it. But I don't think they were ready to be alone again. Not after just months of a new home and friends. People who treated her well, maybe more people than ever before to treat her seriously for once.

If I was freshly 18/19 years old and I had mere months of a fresh start and time spent with dear friends, or even the very first person I allowed to be vulnerable with in such an intimate level? I'd break, and break everything around me in turn to latch onto what was left.

For a romanced Liara, I wonder what the part Shepard they kept within themselves was like. Was it a voice? A feeling? Did it tell/inspire her to keep going, keep fighting? Could it be a part of why she turned so cold and unshakable in her mission to retrieve Shepards body and hunt the Shadow Broker?

Either way, I will never stop thinking about her.

the fact that LIARA was the one who worked to bring you back to life is such good characterisation for her and for Assari in general. Like. Everyone else grieved, but they moved on with their lives, they focused on their own goals, they honoured your memory in their own ways, but they kept going. But Liara couldn't. And of course she couldn't. Liara was older than most of the people ont he normandy, but culturally she was the younget. At just over a century old, Liara is only just an adult. She hasn't experienced grief in this way before - where someone is torn away from you way too young. Her mother died, and she's still reeling from that in ME1 but hey, she was a matriach and she died to try and do the right thing and she was older, but Shepard? Liara can't handle it.

And that's so facinating because...Liara was always going to outlive Shepard and the crew anyway. That's what being an Asari in this multi-species galaxy means, it means that you're going to outlive so many of your potential friends.

IDK man i think its facinating i love her

[elssero]

YOOO CONGRATS ON 1K !!! <333 i’ll totally send in an ask for funsies hehehe (but ofc no pressure to write it!)

sooo how abt a one shot with reader and teenage hawks (like 17 or 18? but definitely before he has his official hero debut) and him and her started as partners at the commission, but they click from the start and are total trauma bonded best friends to lovers

ANYWAYS THEY’RE TRAINING TOGETHER BC THEIR HERO DEBUTS ARE COMING UP SOON AND SO THEY SPAR 🤗 he flirts, she flirts, he get flustered, she pins him and wins the match, they both go quiet and stare at each other longer than “just friends” would—

the age old story that i eat up every time tbh 😪 bonus points if he confesses and lands an actual non-platonic date with her, but i’ll leave it up to youuu <3

impending lovers.

hawks

-from partners in the commission, to friends, and maybe something more.

part of my 1k event! submit your asks!

‘ready to get your ass beat today birdboy?’

keigo stands around 15 paces in front of you, an amused look on his face.

‘i thought i told you to stop calling me that’

the gym is empty other than you two, it gives you the ability to speak freely, act freely, a small sense of freedom. but only when it’s just you and him.

you had originally thought it best to ignore him, all those years ago when he was brought into the commission just a couple of months after you were.

he was.. a distraction.

you think he still is.

but when he smiled at you on the first day you met him you knew it was no use.

‘you finally decided on a hero name?’

‘oh um yeah- i think im going for hawks.’

hawks. it suited him. it felt powerful, matched his huge- beautiful red wings. it’s why you had suggested it in the first place.

‘you went for my suggestion huh?’

he looks away- maybe a little embarrassed. bashful and blushing at your realisation that he picked the only name you suggested.

it’s always been like this. you tease and you laugh, border on flirting until- nothing. nothing ever happens, your beginning to think nothing ever will, although that’s probably for the best.

‘of course i did- come on, we’re wasting good sparing time’

the first part of his sentence is hushed, whispered, as though he doesn’t want you to hear it.

you don’t comment on it, instead you get into position, fists in front of your face to avoid a potential quick attack from him.

you’ll always find yourself here, standing in front of him, a couple feet away, just slightly out of reach.

he doesn’t count down, instead lunging towards you in one quick movement. you watch his hands, he’s not looking to punch, it’s more of a grab, a push maybe.

you move to the left- not quick enough, he trips you up with the side of his wing but the impact sends you both tumbling in the same direction.

neither of you give up, tossing around on the ground- hands reaching to grab the others in an attempt to stop them moving.

you hook his legs on yours, immobilising his lower half before you climb over him, giving yourself the upper hand.

it’s harder for him to fight you from below you, he’s trying to push you off, but your legs have his in a vice and it becomes clear to him that your not going anywhere.

you have his hands now, pinned together above his head, he’s attempts to move his wings, but their trapped under both of your body weights. you have him.

you haven’t really been looking at him- other than predicting where he was going to put his hands, he’s unmoving now, accepting defeat. it gives you a second to look at him, his face.

he’s staring at you, your faces are alot closer than you thought. your nose is inches from his, you can feel his breath on your face, you can feel his chest rise and fall.

your staring at each other now- and he has this look in his eye, you’ve seen it before, for split seconds. it’s admiration- but there’s something more. he looks almost dazed.

you want to move- but you can’t. there’s nothing holding you down but the idea of ruining this moment- so delicate, soft. it breaks your heart.

you can’t indulge, you’ve never let yourself before. you see him, of course you do. you’ve always saw him.

you see him fly, you see him laugh, and cry- your the only one who ever sees him.

it hurts that he’ll never see you too.

it’s better to push him away, don’t let yourself indulge.

in one quick movement your separated from him, you miss the look of panic in his eyes as he jumps up after you.

walking away, going to grab your water or a rag to dry the sweat, just anything to have a little space from him.

you don’t make it far.

‘wait- stop-!’ his voice is a little frantic- whatever he’s about to do is unplanned.

‘how long are we going to pretend?’

it catches you of guard- he’s gripping your hand, spinning you towards him. the look of upset on his face breaks your heart all over again.

‘what are you talking about?’

he shakes his head, even lets out a little laugh, as though he’s saying something obvious that your not understanding.

but there’s something desperate about the way he’s holding your hand in his, about the uneven breaths he’s letting out, about the way he’s looking at you.

he’s desperate- and suddenly it all makes sense.

‘i can’t keep pretending you don’t mean everything to me.’