#subject: final destination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghouldump · 3 months ago

Note

Been thinking of armand x reader x louis and their whole dynamic. I could see her being one of the actors, i want them WHIPPED for her. Like sis has these two powerful beings wrapped around her finger, scary dog privileges fr

Trust | Armand x Reader x Louis

ෆ born for stardom, but destined for chaos, the last thing you ever expected was for two old vampires to become your companions.

it is finally here, the amount of requests for these two has been ASTRONOMICAL 😅 I promise there will be more in the future!!!!

“Open your hands,” your father barked. Holding out your palms, you winced, tears running down your face as the belt came in contact with your hands.

Drawing your hands back, he stopped you and roughly grabbed your wrist. Yanking your arm forward, he brought another lash to your stinging palms.

“You've been missing church to be at that bar, seducing those men like a harlot,” he screamed at you. You could see your mother looking away, too afraid to intervene. She never helped you, her marriage was first, and you were always an afterthought.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to sing, I was only singing-

“Are you alright, my love?” Snapping out of your thoughts, Armand lifted your head to look at him. You sat comfortably on the floor, surrounded by the handsome models, but looked up at your maker, while he stared down, his soft curls in his face.

“I’m okay,” you smiled, watching as he went to stand next to Louis, who sent a wink your way. Knowing him, he heard or saw something in your thoughts and told Armand.

“Shall we continue?” The photographer asked nervously, relieved when Louis nodded at him.

"Did she have to be practically naked?" Armand asked.

"You look amazing, darling, fabulous," the photographer praised, snapping the pictures.

"She wouldn't have wanted it any other way," Louis said, as they focused on the photoshoot.

In the bedazzled lingerie, you posed provocatively, the male models surrounding you. Your fangs out, lightly pressed against the model's neck for the photo.

The model tried blinking away the headache, unable to see Armand glaring, using his powers against the young man.

You were above all these mortals, yet you allowed them to touch you so freely. You and Louis were more willing to work alongside the humans, allowing them a safe space, to feel comfortable, he would never.

"And that is it, I think we're done," the photographer announced, as your team clapped.

"Great, thank you all for coming," you said, pecking the cheek of the model your teeth were pressed against.

You could feel the intense gaze from your companions, territorial and envious. Standing, you walked in front of them, the staff eyed you in fascination seeing you move so fast. Since Lestat had revealed himself, Louis had been quite stressed. He had no intentions of getting back with the blonde hotshot, but he still cared deeply for him.

Mortals didn’t believe the authenticity of his claim to be a vampire, while the elders were furious. Out of love for your companion, and the thrill of living life on the edge, you revealed your own identity, taking some of the spotlight off of him and shifting it to yourself.

If you were going to break the ancient laws, why not go all the way out and serve cunt while doing so. Becoming the next biggest Pop sensation, you were sure to cross all boundaries, and the best part of all of this, you were elusive, untouchable by almost all vampires. Being with Armand and Louis, others were scared to even look your way, despite their desire to see your demise. The next Madonna? Britney? Gaga? Rihanna? no, you were better. You were selling sex, covered in a catchy beat and raunchy choreography, and the world was eating it up.

"You two looked a little close," Armand pointed out, while Louis stared at the model, as he slipped back into a shirt.

“Stop it,” you grabbed their jaws, forcing them to look at you.

"Don't I look tasty?" you changed the subject.

"Yes, although, I wished you would have worn something less revealing for our...guests"

"I thought you liked it when I showed off, Louis, do you like my outfit?" you nuzzled your nose against his own, as his hand went around your waist. Taking in your scent, he nodded.

"I never said I did not like it, or that you did not look ravishing," Armand recanted, wrapping an arm around you.

“I think you could show better than you could tell me,” you smirked. Closing your eyes, you hummed, feeling the pairs of lips against your skin.

“Beautiful,” Louis whispered, as he continued kissing along your neck.

“The most perfect,” Armand added, moving from your neck to your lips.

“I want both of you,” you said, in between the sweet kisses, hearing Louis’s low groan.

Armand was about to command the team to leave the penthouse. They had private business to tend to with you, when your assistant, Joy, came walking in, clearing her throat.

"My apologies, your reporter, he has arrived," she said, as the two men slowly pulled away. Your silk robe, flew across the room, into Armand's hands, before he began to place it onto your body.

“Aw, and I wanted to show him my outfit,” you laughed as Armand looked at you, the idea infuriated his thoughts.

“You've shown off enough today,” Louis said, going to tie the robe closed.

"Let him in," you said, giving them both a kiss of reassurance.

However, you ended up humming in approval, as the tall man entered, he seemed too handsome to be a reporter, a Clark Kent archetype.

"I'm Robert, it is a pleasure to meet you, Vogue is extremely eager to work with you," he held out his hand for you.

"The pleasure is all mine," you winked, snickering as he backed up, glancing at the two figures behind you. You could feel Armand’s icy glare, mixed with Louis’s judgmental frown.

"Don't mind them, they won't bite, will you?" You asked them. They remained motionless for a moment, contemplating simply shredding the guy into pieces, his thoughts loud, staring at your legs, your cleavage, the rouge lipstick.

"No," Louis said, he was usually first to give in. He was loyal as they came, too focused on pleasing you to go against you.

"Armand?" You turned to your maker. He stared emotionless at Robert, who uncomfortably shifted under his gaze.

"Love, tell Robert you won't hurt him," you said, as you held his jaw, his eyes shifting to you, softening.

"I won't," he agreed.

"See, they are very well behaved, they just don't like to share, we can go into the living room, it was recently redecorated," you exclaimed, intertwining Robert's arm with your own, while they followed behind, trying to swallow their burning jealousy.

Sitting across from you, the three of you stared at Robert, watching as he pulled out his notes and laptop before he cleared his throat.

"We have been thrilled about your willingness to work with Vogue, you are very inspiring to many artists, the youth, and I'm sure other vampires. I have questions from our team and you can answer them freely, and whatever is too uncomfortable, you just let me know"

"Okay," you nodded, crossing your legs, smirking as he looked, gulping as the robe rose slightly.

'Let's start with your persona, you claim to be a vampire, is this in any way connected to the rockstar, Lestat-

"No, he is not the only vampire to exist, my maker, is much older than him. I will admit, the ancient laws, so sacred and honored, are boresome, I think the both of us would agree," you said, pausing, as he typed your words.

"Ancient laws, could you elaborate for us... mortals?"

"Think of it like our commandments, no writing about vampirism, killing other vampires, don't turn children, no revealing your nature, and allowing the person to live. I could go further, but it's all incredibly uninteresting to me," you shrugged.

"How many others like you are there?"

"I'm not sure, I don't keep count of every vampire there is," you said, as you and Louis shared a chuckle.

"Will you only ask her questions about vampirism?" Armand asked, a frown already forming.

"It's fine," you told him, as he interlocked his fingers with your own.

"Um, your career, were you always into music, or was it a passion that came over time with your gift?"

"Oh, I've always had quite the stage presence, throughout my years in high school, I think I managed to play lead in every play. Also, there was a lounge near the apartments I lived in before I turned, I performed there regularly"

"Were you pursuing a music career?”

"Not really, I knew it was something I was good at, I mean, I was great at acting and singing, but I needed more than hope and a childish dream to pick up my entire life, to try to achieve either"

"Please forgive my questioning, but since you've revealed yourself, many are fearful of your potential eating habits, any comment?"

"I cannot speak for all vampires, but my maker, companion, and I all receive blood in the most cruelty-free way. Yes, we are technically able to do these things but there are better things to do than picking up random people to kill"

"Your maker? The person, or I should say vampire, who turned you?"

"Yes"

"Who is your maker?"

"Armand," you said, watching the emotion leave his face, as he briefly glanced at him.

"If possible, could you tell us a backstory maybe your previous months, leading to your transformation”

"No," Armand interrupted, before you whispered into his ear, Robert was interested in knowing what you could have said leaving the vampire much more relaxed than before.

“I was born in a small town, less than 5,000 people. Everyone knew everyone, and they all seemed to follow the same customs, until me. My mother told me when I was a child, she knew then, I would be a star, but my daddy thought differently…”

“I swear, if she is in here, I’m beating her into next week,” your father, Joseph said, turning off the car.

“Joseph,” Sandra, your mother screamed.

“This isn't a grocery store, first she's missing church, now she is a liar,” he said, getting out of the car, his wife scrambling to follow him.

It was your mother who convinced him to let you have a job in the first place. You had been working at the next town over, for about two years now. You were able to purchase your own car and save money. The problem came in because you broke your end of the deal. You got the cashier job, but you still had to continue with church and choir with your family.

However, your parents didn't even know you didn't work at a grocery store. You managed to find a nice bar, willing to pay tips and you got to perform. Dressing up, you were able to sing and dance whatever your heart desired, as long as the lustful men got to watch you.

Easter Sunday came and went and you were nowhere to be found, leading them to begin investigating the town over, where they heard about the bar.

You stand straight as Tiffany’s

Diamonds, Diamonds

I don't mean rhinestones

But diamonds are a girl's best friend

As you finished singing, you nearly fainted as you made eye contact with your parents. Your mother had her mouth covered, while your father held a look of disgust.

The music, the form-fitting dress, the hair, the make-up, you were practically a lady of the night, dancing for these men. Nervously bowing, you accepted the tips, before you approached your parents.

“Where are your keys?” you father started.

“In my bag,” you winced at his every move, afraid of getting one of his brutal punishments.

He was strict, and it wasn't uncommon for him to get physical if he even felt like you were trying to act unladylike.

“Get your things now, you can ride back with your mother,” he told you, hardly sparing you a glance.

Quickly changing, you explained your situation to your manager, and before you knew it, you were awkwardly sitting in the passenger seat, as your mother drove you home.

“He’s going to kill me, mommy,” you whispered.

“Why would you do this, Y/n, dressed like that, tempting those men,” she stressed.

“You always said I was meant to be a star-

“That doesn't mean dress like Marilyn Monroe, of all people, she has a terrible legacy, is that what you want? To be seen as a sex symbol by all of those men?” she asked. Yes. Yes, you did, your embarrassing daddy issues made you crave the attention of men. If using your body and looks made them fall to their knees, you didn't care.

“I’m sorry-

“You’ll have to tell that to your father,” she cut you off.

“I’m 20, how long am I supposed to let him spank me as if I am a child,” you raised your voice at her. She didn't say anything the rest of the drive, pulling into the driveway.

Your father stood, leaning against your car, and as soon as your mother parked, he took long strides towards the door, opening it, and yanking you onto the grass.

Trying to get up, your efforts were futile, as he grabbed your hair, dragging you into the house. Your mother kept her head down, unable to watch the sight.

“Daddy-

“I won't let you become so whore, you are a young girl and you need to act like it,” he said, taking off his belt. You sat on your knees, crying, rubbing your head from the soon-to-be headache, trying to mentally prepare yourself for what was coming.

“Open your hands,” your father barked. Holding out your palms, you winced, tears running down your face as the belt came in contact with your hands.

Drawing your hands back, he stopped you and roughly grabbed your wrist. Yanking your arm forward, he brought another lash to your stinging palms.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to sing, I was only singing-

“You sing at church. Not some bar full of lustful drunkards, you’ll learn, no more working, no more car, after this, you can reflect on your choices,” he said, as he began swinging the belt freely.

By the time he finished, you lay stiffly on the carpet, the welts already forming. You were too tired from crying and squirming to move around, but you knew one thing, you needed to leave as fast as possible. You couldn't stay in this small town and keep dealing with the treatment.

Forcing yourself off of the floor, you limped to your bedroom. Packing only a handful of outfits in a backpack, grabbing your stash of saved money. Once you were sure your parents were settled in their room, you snuck and took your car keys from your father’s jacket.

Running outside, you quickly started your car to leave. You had to get as far away as possible, and you could find a new job wherever you went. You had enough money saved to get an apartment, but as of now you simply wanted to drive, cry, and hope to end up anywhere better than this shitty town.

“You are in luck, my dear, we just recently finished cleaning up a one-bed, one bath - the only problem is it is on the third floor, and the elevator only goes to the second,” the landlord, Gary said, smiling sheepishly.

“It doesn't matter to me, I need a place as soon as possible,” you told him.

“Then we can work something out, you seem like a sweet girl with a good head on your shoulders, I won't do a background check, just finish the application and we’ll go from there,” he said, standing as someone rang the bell in the lobby.

“Excuse me,” he said, leaving you, as you tried your hardest to hide your smile.

After hours upon hours of driving until you finally stopped in San Francisco, and the first apartments you checked, you were already finding a place to stay. Gary, the landlord, was the kindest old man, everything you wished your father was.

As he said, the process went by quickly, and before you knew it, both of you stood outside of the door, as he placed the keys into your hand.

“It’s only you and the neighbors across the hall, but you won’t have any issues, they stay to themselves,” he explained.

“Thank you so much,” you told him.

“Oh please, dear, I hope you enjoy your stay,” he told you, turning to leave you.

Your living situation was now secured, you just needed a job. The sun was beginning to set, but perhaps there were a few places you could check- your hand instinctively went to your stomach as it growled. Maybe you could eat something first, preferably something budget-friendly.

Driving around, the lounge caught your eye, Midnight Oasis, and they sold baked goods! Parking your car, you made your way inside. The room was dimly lit, most of everyone's attention on the stage. A man sat, playing a saxophone.

Going to the counter, you ordered a slice of the velvet cake, along with a cold-cut sandwich. Sitting at the bar, you watched in amazement, as the man played the instrument. Back home, you weren't allowed to listen to music on the radio, it was the devil's music, your father had even taken it out of your car.

All you had was old vinyl, bought at the record store, and all of the albums you owned were from the sixties or older. When you worked, you grew familiar with a few artists you liked, Queen, Donna Summer, and Abba, just to name a few, but you hadn't been listening long enough for any of it to stick.

As the cute plates were placed in front of you, you slowly ate, watching the performance. The man playing the music was quite handsome and had strong features, dark eyes, and a cute haircut. He kind of stood out, he didn't look like the type to be in lounges.

“Is he an upcoming artist? He's really good,” you asked the nearby bartender.

“Christopher? No, he's just a regular, the tips are nice so he keeps coming back,” she laughed.

“He doesn't work here?” you asked surprised.

“No, you sign up and the stage is yours for nearly an hour, you can do music, stand up, dance, whatever,” she said, as she cleaned the glasses.

“How do I sign up?” you asked, interested in the idea of easy tips.

“Sign that paper, I don't think anyone else has signed up, so you may be next,” she pointed out by the cash register.

“Thank you,” you said, going to the cashier to pay for your meal, along with signing the paper.

“Oh, you actually signed up,” the bartender said, surprised as you came back.

“Yeah, could I have two shots of…do you have whiskey?” you asked, taking out a few bills to pay.

Quickly making the shots, she slid them to you, watching as you reached for them.

“To new beginnings,” you mumbled to yourself. Throwing each shot to the back of your throat, you grimaced at the burning sensation, shaking your head sourly.

“That was Christopher with his self-written piece, next up, Y/n,” the cashier announced with a microphone. Exhaling, you took off your jacket and purse, revealing the shirt you'd cut into a crop top with daisy dukes.

“Could I leave this here?” you asked her, sitting it on the counter as she nodded.

Walking through the crowd, you could already feel the alcohol warming your body. You smiled at the variety of men, as their eyes widened, watching you walk past. Making eye contact with Christopher, you looked him up and down, moving to the microphone, while he walked off of stage.

“Hey,” you called out to him, biting your lip as he looked back at you.

“Do you play piano?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Could you…” you motioned.

“Sure,” he grinned, coming back on stage.

“Do you know Natural Woman?”

“Uh, yes,” he nodded.

“Okay, follow along,” you chuckled, grabbing the microphone from its stand.

Lookin’ out on the morning rain, I used to feel so uninspired-

As you started singing, he began to press the keys, and the crowd of men began whistling, wooing you. Continuing to sing, you walked from the stage, passing a few of the men, swaying your hips. The performance seemed to catch the attention of nearly all of the employees, hearing how rowdy the audience was getting.

Sitting on one of the many tables, you looked down at both of the brown-skinned men. They stared at you as if you were prey, and in a twisted way, it only made you more confident in your appearance.

Hoping up, you went back to the stage was the song was coming to an end, dramatically bowing as everyone cheered for you. The staff, the audience, security, even people that had been walking by had came in to hear your voice.

“You were amazing,” Christopher started, as he stood up.

“I know,” you laughed.

“Are you new in the area? Maybe we could get lunch sometime,” he said, and just like that, he became unattractive to you.

“I don't know, it seems a little bit too soon for any of that,” you apologized.

“No, it’s okay, at least take my number, if you're ever bored, call me,” he said, quickly writing his number on a napkin and giving it to you. Grabbing his saxophone case, he waved, before he left.

Walking from the stage, you accepted the tips, from everyone. Thanking each of them with a wink, when a man stopped you.

“That was a beautiful performance”

“Thank you”

“My name is Donald Willis, I’m the owner of this establishment, and I would love to offer a position as a full-time performer. You would get paid weekly, along with your tips, please accept, we have been this crowded for years,” he said.

“Okay,” you nodded, excitedly.

“Come back tomorrow night and we’ll talk more, Miss Y/n,” he said, eagerly, walking away.

Going to the bar, you sat down, putting your things back on.

“You certainly know how to put on a show, and Donny offered you a job,” the bartender came back.

“Thank you, I’m so excited,” you beamed. Everything seemed to be falling into place for you, leaving home was one of the best things that could've happened.

“Brava, it has been a long time since I’ve seen such an eccentric performance,” you heard, making you turn around. Of the brown men, one was clearly black, but the other was possibly desi. They were handsome, with a hungry, and lustful glint in their eyes.

“You have a beautiful voice,” the second man spoke.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“For you,” the brown man spoke, holding the folded bills, it had to be a few hundred, sticking the money in your waistband, you got goosebumps as his cool fingers brushed against your skin.

“I’m Y/n,” you spoke, they shared a smirk, before looking back to you.

“Louis”

“Armand,” you brown man spoke. His eyes felt like they were piercing through you and it only drove you crazier.

What was wrong with you? You loved men like your father, stoic, stern, a little evil, but what you loved even more was doing to them what you couldn't do to your father; break them. To have these scary men falling at your feet, there was no greater ecstasy. You certainly weren't a virgin, perhaps that was one of the many reasons your father was cold to you, but the distance between you both slowly was replaced by your nymphomaniac tendencies.

“Why’d you turn down the kid with saxophone, he seemed nice,” Louis asked.

“He’s not what I’m looking for, especially in a man,” you crossed your leg over the other.

“Really now?”

“Hm, I prefer older, mysterious men,” you batted your eyelashes.

“Is that what you think? You should get home, too dangerous for a young girl to be out alone,” Armand said, turning to walk away.

“I am not a little girl,” you told him, taking your purse, storming past him. You were too offended by his words to notice his smirk. They could hear your thoughts loud and clear, he could see the sass in your walk, this was the most intrigued Armand and Louis had been in a while.

“Hey, he didn't mean that sometimes he just speaks before he thinks,” Louis called out, trying to keep up with you, your humanly fast pace.

“It's okay, Louis, I appreciate it, not everyone can have the looks and a way with words, your loverboy lacks the latter,” you said, as Armand slowly approached the two of you.

“My apologies, I am very aware that you are indeed fully woman, I was only letting you know, that there are scary men who would give anything to hunt a woman with a face as cute as yours,” he told you, grinning as you mentally questioned why he sounded like he was from another time.

“Let them, I can handle myself,” you told him, looking away as his eyes explored your figure. He didn't even hide it, while Louis was more discreet.

“Hardly, it would only take one swift move, to have you against the car, if you knew any better, you would take my advice,” he said, making your laugh.

“Is that what this is? Your advice? You haven't been able to keep your eyes off of my cleavage since you introduced yourself, if you wanted me, all you had to do was say it,” you smirked, looking at him. He stared at you, before sharing a look with Louis.

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet, only seventeen

Dancing queen

Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah

Singing loudly, you vacuumed the large rug in your living room. It had been only a few weeks since living in San Francisco, and things were really looking up for you. You'd been hired at the Midnight Oasis and quickly became popular, the money growing each night.

Louis and Armand, you didn't see any more, which bummed you out. After that night, what happened between the three of you, in your car, you hoped they would at least try to keep contact. However, you couldn't stay stuck on the same two people, which is why you had already been on a lunch date with Christopher.

He was there nearly every other day, and after a few conversations, you agreed to meet him for lunch. He was sweet, the stereotypical good guy behavior. He wasn’t your type, but perhaps it was what you needed, instead of the same men you kept dealing with.

The sound of knocking interrupted your thoughts, lowering the radio, you rushed to the door and swung it open. Raising your eyebrow, you were surprised to see Louis.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hey, could you keep the music down a bit,” he smiled.

“You’re my neighbor, and I’m just finding this out,” you said, your eyes widening as Armand opened the door across the hall.

“We’ve known about you for some time now, just been busy,” Louis said.

“I was wondering when I’d see you both again, I figured you didn't want to see me anymore, especially since you both thought I was too much of a little girl to leave your number, but woman enough to fuck,” you raised your voice for Armand to hear. He had been staring, unblinking with those piercing eyes, never once speaking to you.

“You practically begged for it, but you are a young girl and you need to act like it,” Armand said, your eyes immediately watered, his choice of words reminding you of your father.

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis looked back at him with a frown.

“Don't listen to him-

“I don't know what your problem is, Armand, but I have some news for you. I certainly wasn't begging you, shrimp. I’ll keep the music down, Louis,” you said, slamming the door shut.

Leaning against the wall, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to calm yourself down. You had lied, trying to hurt Armand’s pride, he and Louis had been the best you'd ever had. You didn't understand what was his problem though. His eyes showed that he yearned for your attention, but the first time he saw you in nearly a month, he said something so mean.

The next morning, opening your door, you were shocked to see the bouquet. A small card, simply stating, “sorry”, not even a name. Balling up the note, you angrily took the flowers and tossed them in the trash.

As much as you were attracted to these men, it was best to do them the same thing they had done to you, leave them in the past. There were too many options for you to be stuck on two men you didn't know.

You began avoiding them like the plague, going to work and coming home. Occasionally, you made plans, but you mostly stayed in your apartment or at your job. Christopher because a recurring person in your life, and you didn't mind, if it meant the two would leave your thoughts.

I love to love you, baby

Finishing the Donna Summer song, you waved, facing Christopher as he pulled you into a hug. Rocking left to right, his hand rested on your lower back. Pulling away, you accepted the tips, before the both of you were at the bar.

“You did amazing, you always do, I don't think I've ever met anyone like you,” he confessed, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips. Laughing, you leaned close, pecking his lips.

“Would you like to come to my place?” you asked, tilting your head. Eagerly nodding, he stood as you held his hand, leading him to his car.

Back in the apartments, Louis leaned against the wall, and Armand sat on the sofa, trying to stop himself from destroying the area out of jealousy. They could hear you, loud and clearly. Your moans, giggles, the sound of the bed, he couldn't stop his leg from shaking.

“You can't be jealous, after what you did,” Louis told him.

“What have I done?”

“You were all inside her brain and used those words against her”

“You were in her thoughts as well, and I was trying to create distance between us, it will either be death or she is turned, if we reveal our identity. Something about her is very special, and I don't know if she should have the dark gift,” he confessed, grimacing as you whispered the saxophone boy’s name.

“That would be up to her to make that decision, I like her and I know you do too, so there is no reason for you to act like that, when you could just try to get to know her, outside of invading her thoughts,” Louis told him. It sounded very easy, but Armand couldn't help that he ended up saying the wrong thing.

Standing up, he could hear the two of you getting dressed, and soon your door opened, and you walked the boy to the stairs. Just as you were coming back, Armand opened the door, staring at you.

“Can I help you?” you rolled your eyes.

“You were loud,” he lied.

“Okay? Turn on the radio to drown me out,” you said, gasping as he was in front of you within a span of a blink.

“You choose to live vivaciously through your daddy issues-

“Excuse me?”

“When you are worthy of more than this,” he said, his eyes briefly looking down at the robe. Staring into his eyes, you smashed your lips into his own. Naturally, he picked you up, his hands moving down your back to your bottom. You moaned lightly in the kiss when suddenly, you slapped him.

He could see the tears building up in your eyes as you ran into your apartment, slamming the door. Looking back, he shared a look with a very disappointed Louis.

“You live vivaciously through your daddy issues, why the hell would you say that?” he asked Armand, as he came back into their apartment.

“I was trying to be nice-

“By bringing up trauma? When the hell has that ever worked for anyone?” Louis stressed, going into their shared room. Armand seemed like a lost cause, any possibility that he and his companion had to see or experience you again, was dropping, quickly.

“Wait, so you had a threesome with your neighbors? They're not gay?” Christopher asked. He had become a regular at your apartment, oftentimes cuddling, talking, being intimate. In a way, he seemed like your boyfriend without the title.

“Not completely, obviously, because it happened, but Armand has been the biggest asshole ever since, it really has been too much,” you shook your head.

“Do you want me to tell him to back off?” Christopher asked.

“No, he has been keeping his distance, hold on, I need to give Gary my rent,” you gasped, remembering that he said he would be out of time for two weeks.

“You want me to come?” he said, watching as you slipped into the pajama pants and slippers, grabbing the check.

“No, it's fine, I will only be a few minutes,” you said, going to the stairs.

Making your down to the lobby, you rang the bell, hearing Gary call out, one second. Leaning against the counter, you patiently waited, jumping as your name was called.

“Y/n, how are you?” Louis asked as he and Armand entered the building.

“I’m okay, you?”

“Great,” he smiled at you.

“Y/n, I-I would like to apologize for my actions towards you, how I spoke to you is inexcusable, I spoke wrongfully one too many times without thinking,” Armand confessed. You didn't say anything, staring at him.

“Gary, I’d like to pay Y/n’s rent this month,” He said.

“No, I don't need you to do that,” you refused.

“I insist, think of it as payment for the emotional distress I’ve caused,” he said, counting out a few hundred dollars, and handing them to Gary, as soon as he came from his office.

“You can spend your money on something nice,” Louis told you, as Gary looked at you.

“That is very kind of you two,” Gary nodded in approval, taking the money, and going to his office.

“You didn't have to do that, you could have done anything else,” you told Armand, your heart fluttered as he smiled.

“I told you, think of it like my payment for the distress I’ve caused you, I knew matter to speak to a lady in such a manner, but I let my tongue run loosely in the presence of a beautiful woman like yourself,” he spoke. Your eyes widened, surprised by his words. He expressed as if he was a completely different person.

“Well…apology accepted,” you said, making your way to the stairs, both of them following close behind.

“Would you two like to come over for lunch-

“We have plans tomorrow,” Louis spoke, feeling guilty as you mouthed, ‘oh’.

“But you can come over tomorrow night, do you play board games?” he continued, blushing as you smiled, nodding.

“Then we will see you tomorrow, after sunset,” Armand told you, as you approached your apartment.

“See you then,” you nodded. As you entered your apartment, Christopher looked at you confused at your smile.

“You seem happier than before you left, something happened?” he asked.

“Nope,” you said, your smile faltering as he stood up.

“I have to leave, I have class early tomorrow, I’ll see you later?” he asked, putting his shoes on.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just see you later,” you nodded, letting him peck your cheek, before making his way out of the apartment.

Christopher made his way out of the complex, walking towards his car, when he stopped, seeing the familiar man, leaning against his car.

“You, again,” he grumbled.

“I need your help, you’ve gotten to know Y/n, and how does one grand sound?” he asked, Christopher pondered on it.

The man had approached him, some time ago, offering him money, to have access to you. The longer he declined the deal, the higher the offers became. Christopher had been trying to hold out because he did like you, but he was a struggling college student. From his understanding, in your hometown, you didn't have any plans concerning college, and since you had been in San Francisco you had taken all of the money he could have earned.

“What is your name again, sir?”

“Joseph”

“Alright, Joseph, I will let you know when we can begin planning,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand before getting into his car.

Meanwhile, Armand and Louis began getting ready for bed, undressing.

“You did good, telling her how you feel,” Louis told Armand.

“You don't think I overstepped?” Armand asked.

“She agreed to come over, so it worked,” Louis told him, as he nodded in agreement.

“Right”

“We just have to wait for the right time to tell her,” Louis said, as they climbed into their coffins.

After spending countless hours observing, they had determined that you were indispensable, the crucial element to their companionship. The apple of their eyes, from the way you walked down to your sassy mannerism, they would do anything, be anything, if it meant they could have you.

“Make your move, Y/n,” Louis taunted. It had been well over two weeks and you were beginning to form a friendship with the two males. Regularly hanging at their apartment whenever you were off or spending time with them after your performances.

“Armand, help me,” you whined, holding the cards close. You were losing terribly in the card game and with you asking for help, he immediately felt compelled, reaching forward, grabbing the necessary card.

“Why did you actually help?” Louis asked, as you laughed.

“Don't be a sore loser, Louis,” you pointed, before glancing at the clock.

“Oh god, it is getting late, I need to get dressed for work,” you said, standing up.

“You picked up tonight?”

“Donny asked me last minute if I could do it, you two should come, we can get a few drinks afterward,” you said, turning around. You caught a glimpse into their shared bedroom. You didn't know if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but it looked like a coffin inside.

“Sure, did you want to ride with us?” Louis asked.

“Will your boyfriend be there?” Armand asked, trying to hide his jealousy. Smiling, you stepped closer to him.

“I don't have a boyfriend, and no, I would rather my outfit be a surprise,” you smiled, backing out of the apartment, as Armand walked forward.

“Then we will be there waiting for you,” he said, taking your hand into his own, and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

Going to your apartment, you immediately began fixing your hair and makeup. Thinking about Armand and Louis, you couldn't help but smile, they were so interesting. A few of your colleagues warned you, claiming the men seemed strange and could potentially be dangerous.

You didn't believe that though, hanging around them nearly every day, despite how intimidating they were to everyone else, they were nothing but gentlemen to you.

Just as you slipped on your fitted dress, you heard a soft knocking on the door. Smiling, you were going to peek out and tell Armand or Louis, they had to wait. However, your smile dropped upon seeing Christopher. You hadn't seen him at all, for the last two weeks, he wasn't answering the phone, nor was he ever showing up to the lounge anymore.

“Y/n, may I come in?” he asked, unable to meet your eyes.

“Fine, you have some nerve, showing up after all this time, I was worried about you,” you said, letting him in, going to a nearby mirror to fix your lipstick, slipping your earrings into your ears.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, looking as if he would burst into tears.

“It's alright, Chris, no need to look so emotional,” you laughed, going to grab your car keys and heels.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, making you look back at him in confusion, when a cloth went to your mouth, roughly pressing against your face, until you fell unconscious.

At Midnight Oasis, just as Louis was parking the car, they felt weird feeling. You were in trouble, starting the car, then quickly went back to the apartment. Your door was shut, but by making the door swing open, they could see that you struggled only a little, knocking a few things. Picking up the cloth, it was obvious someone drugged you. Armand frowned, the cloth burning into flames before he stormed out of the apartment.

Waking up, you groaned, your head throbbing. Blinking repeatedly, your heart was pounding as you recognized your surroundings. You were home. Trying to get up, you realized your hands and ankles had handcuffs on them. When suddenly, your father walked into the room, Christopher behind him, with his head down.

You didn't know when you got here, or how long you had even been here, but you had to get out of here, as soon as possible.

“Dad…”

“You have no idea what you’ve put your mother and me through to get you back home, it was thanks to this young man, I was able to get you back,” he grinned, patting his back.

“Chris?”

“I needed the money,” he told you, looking away.

“And you, young lady, you’ve shown why you don't need to be away from home,” he said, as Christopher hesitantly approached.

“Your neighbors, they- they are some kind of monster, it may be best that you stay here,” he tried to make you feel better, as he showed you the pictures. Louis and Armand, both biting into people, seemingly killing them, fire, lots of it, as they burn the bodies. None of it was logical, you had no logical explanation for it, but all you knew was the two had treated you with chivalry and you weren't going to trust him when he had kidnapped you for your father.

“You’re wrong, get away from me, I hate you, I hat-” You dropped your head when your father slapped you in the face.

“Thank you for your help, Christopher, take your money and get out of my house,” he said, as he began taking off his belt.

“Mom, mommy,” you screamed, tears already piling up in your eyes, out of fear. Five months had come and gone, you began to live a life, free of this, but in his presence, you were filled with fear.

She came from out of their room, tears in her eyes, and she shook her head.

“Joseph, don't do this, this isn't the way, please,” she cried. You both knew this spanking would be worse than any of them.

“Shut up, go in the room,” he screamed at her, making her lower her head at his tone.

Swinging the first lash, you gasped, feeling as if your breath had been taken away. Falling over, your face landed on the carpet, as you took a deep breath, although he didn't let you recover, as he began swinging the belt harshly. You would die, you were sure he would kill you from this.

You could hear your mother crying, begging him to stop, you had enough, even Christopher hadn't left, watching the scene unfold. He questioned within himself if he had made a mistake, in helping your father. You lay crying quietly, flinching after each hit when the door broke open.

Armand and Louis walked in, and immediately, Louis was in front of Christopher, snapping his neck. He had given you up for money, making him equally guilty. Your mother screamed as you widened your eyes. Armand stalked towards your father, fire appearing in his hand, as your father backed away from him. Crouching down, Armand ripped handcuffs off with ease, caressing your wrists, then ankles.

“What are you two doing here?” you sniffled.

“Here to get the woman we love,” he said, holding your face.

“What are y-

“We will explain, everything, but trust me when I say, you will never be treated like this again, you will only know love, I promise you. Louis and I will cherish you, seeing you for all that you are, if you allow us to be your companions. Would you grant us the greatest gift, to be yours?” he asked, as Louis approached, crouching next to him.

“Yes,” you smiled, wiping your tear-stained face, as they both embraced you.

“You whore, you’ve defiled yourself, giving yourself to these demons, who have committed acts against nature,” your father spewed, as the two of them slowly looked towards him.

“That is something I have to live with, Dad,” you told him, slowly standing up.

“Do you think I am letting you leave this house after you have shown you love what is evil, it would have been better if you had never been born,” he said, pulling out a pistol from his waistband.

“Joseph, no-oh god,” your mother screamed, the most terrifying scream, as the gun went off. Holding your stomach, you looked down at the blood on your hand, before your eyes went to Armand, then Louis.

Louis caught you, as you began to fall, while Armand stood, as darkness covered his eyes. You could see the fire sparking from his hand, your vision going in and out, as he gruesomely killed your father. Breaking his limbs, drinking his blood, setting him on fire.

Louis held you, trying to keep you awake, while he searched for the bullet. Finally, as he pulled it out, Armand rushed over lifting you into his arms. Louis looked back at your mother, who cried hysterically, about to stand up, you reached for him.

“Spare her,” you struggled to speak.

“I’m going to make the pain go away, okay,” Armand told you.

“Are you sure you want to do it? I can do it-

“No, I got it,” Armand said. All this time, in San Francisco, he had been trying to push you away with mean words, to avoid this happening to you — but now at this moment — he wanted only his blood flowing through your veins.

Struggling to nod at his words, your eyes began to roll back, as he began drinking your blood, and before death could take you, he pulled away. Your breathing was shallow, slow, and unsteady, as you reached to hold his face.

Using his nail to slice his skin, he brought his wrist to your mouth. “Drink,” he told you, watching as you slowly began to swallow, holding onto his arm. Finally, after you had enough, you let go, laying back in his arms, as your eyes went to Louis, reaching to hold his hand.

“We will teach you everything you need to know, in your new life, but things of your former life will have to be left behind,” Louis told you, motioning to your mother. Nodding, you watched as he stood up, approaching her. She flinched away from him, but he grabbed her, glamouring her, telling her a fabricated story, before sending her to bed.

Despite still having a wound, your stomach no longer hurt, but rather churned. Armand looked down at you, Patting your stomach, he smiled.

“No worries, it is normal, and won't last for long,” he said, kissing your cheek.

“What are we?” you asked him, as your body felt physically exhausted.

“We are vampires and we will have an eternity together”

“Promise?”

“I promise”

“I’m sorry,” Robert said, genuinely feeling pity for you.

“Oh no, there is no need to be sorry, my father was a terrible man, as was Christoper, no different than Judas, it was unfortunate that I had been shot, but my maker and companion both avenged me, before I was given the dark gift,” you said, as Armand kissed your intertwined hand, while Louis kissed your cheek.

“And what of your mother?”

You remember as if it was yesterday when you got the letter in the mail. She was old, wheelchair-bound, and waiting for her time to come. She had sold everything and now lived in a retirement home. Louis had only wiped her memory up until the night you left, blaming her husband’s death on sickness. She wrote you a letter, begging that you would come see her, and out of curiosity, you showed up.

You felt bad for her, she couldn't help that she was brainwashed into the role of what was considered a good wife. However, when you showed up, first she praised how young you looked before she began to scold you. She couldn't believe you would up and abandon your family because of mistakes your father made, it was shameful, etc. You knew it was wrong, but you made her remember everything, a devious smirk on your face as you left the facility. She screamed that same scream from that night, terrified by the things she had seen and allowed.

“Her memory was erased and she lived the rest of her and died a happy old woman,” you smirked.

“After your time at Midnight Oasis was that the night of your music career, until recently?”

“No, I continued there a few more years and went on to do some behind-the-scenes work, songwriting, producing, a little bit of everything”

“Do you ever…do you ever think of seeing other vampires, or even people? An eternity seems like a long time to be bound to someone,” he managed to get out. You could practically see the steam radiating from Armand and Louis, as they stared at him. Laughing, you lay your head on Louis’s shoulder

“Not really, companionships are different than any average relationship, so the circumstances are really the same either”

“Miss Y/n, excuse me, but your meals have arrived,” Joy peeked into the living room.

“I’m afraid this interview will have to be cut short, Robert,” you told him, leaning forward, an enthusiastic grin on your lips.

“We will finish on Zoom, ciao,” you waved, as he blushed, packing his things.

“I will see you, then,” he said, unable to meet the eyes of Armand and Louis because of their harsh stares.

“Did you have to scare him?”

“He’s lucky he didn't get worse,” Louis said.

“Exactly, with his perverted thoughts, I should have ripped every limb from his pathetic body-

“If you two kill every person who wants me, who will fawn over me?” you asked them, while they shared an expression.

“Us,” they said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Obviously, but you like when I’m performing, being ravished with attention, not just you two but others,” you pouted, as you began to open the robe.

“Of course, but it is infuriating hearing the thoughts of everyone who thinks they could have a chance with you”

“Let them have their fantasies, it is on the stage that they can use their imagination, but you both know I won't be going anywhere any time soon,” you said, kissing Armand’s lips, then Louis’s.

“Promise?” Louis asked you.

“I promise,” you laughed, your pinkies wrapping around both of their pinkies.

“Miss Y/n, your first meal…”

i'm not sure about how i feel about this one, but time will tell…

#armand x reader #armand the vampire #louis de pointe du lac x reader #louis x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv

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vir-bellanaris · 25 days ago

Note

The ending was fine, but what really bothered me what the fact that Lavellan is, once again, cast aside in second position. Solas calls her "vhenan", writes her letters, says his feelings for her will never change etc... and continues destroying her world because he's sad over another woman. At the end, it's Mythal who changes his mind, not Lavellan.

And once again, it's Lavellan who takes agency, who shows interest, by insisting to go with him, by starting the kiss, by touching his back while he simply stands there, hands crossed without even looking at her. I don't know, I'm glad they're finally together, but it really felt like Lavellan is the one who's pining over this relationship, not Solas.

Mythal is essentially Solas' creator. She "pulled him from the Fade" and gave him a purpose, even if it was one that twisted his nature. He was bound to her service. I don't believe at all they were romantically involved, despite speculation in and out of the Veilguard game. Mythal herself consistently treats him as an "old friend" and even as a child, despite their ages being the same.

Their affection for each other runs deep. And is an ancient bond. Lavellan doesn't have that rapport with him, no matter how much they love each other.

At the end of Trespasser Solas refuses to allow Lavellan to follow, not wanting her to see what he becomes. And I think we the player saw what he became, he tried to become more the Dread Wolf than Solas.

You cannot get the happy ending without the Inquisitor, so I would say they are in fact very important. When Solas says "thank you" during that final scene he is addressing directly the Inquisitor. (Unless Lavellan kisses him then he says "Thank you, Rook")

Solas loves Lavellan. She is his heart. For the past decade or more he has denied his heart and tried to harden it against those who care for him. He "killed" Mythal when even she tried to dissuade him from his course.

It took Rook, Mythal AND the Inquisitor together to convince him to stop.

As for the animations of the final scene. I couldn't be more pleased. They kissed. Despite Solas just having an emotional breakdown, demon blood in his mouth, and probably a concussion. Yes, Lavellan was the one to reach out but I wasn't expecting any different.

He doesn't want to subject her to the "terrible" place he is going to atone for what he has done. She was the one who stepped forward and this time insisted she go with him. And he gave her zero argument, just one warning it won't be easy for them

I wish he had reached for her hand there at the end. But as she touched his shoulder it was his magic that enveloped her as well, making sure to take her with him to where his destination lies.

Also adding onto this because the way he looks at Lavellan in this game is more meaningful to me than any touch they could've animated. I mean cmon...look at this and tell me he isn't deeply in love with her.

I mean PLEASE

And in the kiss animation you can see his mouth moving as he kisses her back eeeeeeeeee okay...I'm done.

#i just watched it again to take screenshots and cried #solavellan spoilers #veilguard spoilers #mythal and solas #solas #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #fenharel #solas x lavellan #solas x inquisitor #solas x female lavellan #solas romance #solasmance #otp

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sodaabaa · 6 months ago

Text

shadows and spirits, part two

azriel x reader reader is azriel's mate but she hasn't accepted the bond yet due to her fear of azriel himself.

tw: nsfw, smut, brief mentions of childhood trauma, edging, oral, restraint.

part one

a/n: holy shit y'all, azriel made me go feral with this one. enjoy ;)

“You won’t be able to stay away from him much longer,” Feyre teased. When one night stands and self-pleasure proved to be unsuccessful, Y/N gave up trying to satisfy herself altogether. Instead, ignoring the throbbing between her legs by staying as busy as she could – filling her days with extra shifts at the bar and frequent after-work drinks with Feyre.

“Shut up.�� “That’s no way to speak to your High Lady,” She gasped, a hand on her chest in feigned shock.

Y/N scoffed, “Don’t you have places to be, my lady?”

She waved a hand, “What could possibly be more important than watching you try to ignore how frustrated you are?”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. Feyre gave her a look that said ‘sure you are’ but she didn’t bring it up again. The two spent the night drinking, Y/N listened as Feyre drunkenly ranted about Rhys and Nesta’s most recent topic of debate – and by debate, she meant they nearly mauled each other to death. Y/N couldn’t help the curiosity nagging at her.

“What’s he been doing?” She finally asked.

“Sulking. Brooding. The usual.”

Y/N nodded, for some reason she was unconvinced that the Spymaster hadn’t been up to anything.

“He doesn’t show it – much less say it – but your fear, it’s messing with him,” Feyre confessed.

She didn’t say anything, opting for another shot instead.

“He’s been waiting for a mate for five hundred years, Y/N. And he’s had a hard life. He shares your complaints about Illyrians because he was subjected to their cruelty just as you and your mother were. I know he can be intimidating but if you trust me at all, trust that you would be in good hands with him as your mate.”

They finally parted, a dangerous amount of alcohol in their systems as they walked off. Y/N stumbled her way to her apartment. She could’ve sworn the alleyway between the buildings were darker but she chalked it up to being drunk off her mind. When she finally reached her destination, she collapsed on her couch, exhausted. The alcohol had done a good job at dulling the incessant throbbing – so much so that she finally got a few hours of rest before dreams of a man entrenched in shadows, head between her legs, startled her awake.

Damn you, Shadowsinger.

She rubbed her thighs together, the images of her dream flashing before her eyes. A hand traveled down her stomach, trailing to the spot between her legs she was beginning to resent. She slipped her fingers underneath her panties, giving in to the nagging arousal as she worked the spot. His face flashed before her eyes and she cursed, removing her hands and sitting up. Y/N decided to take a cold shower, if only to punish herself for thinking of that damned Illyrian. Shadows shifted in the corner and she stilled. She had no idea how his shadows worked but she had a creeping suspicion he used them as his eyes and ears.

“What happened? Too scared to come and see me yourself so you send your shadows instead?” The shadows went still and Y/N thought maybe she had imagined their movement. She shook her head, and just as she was about to walk away, a tendril of shadow reached for her hand, reluctant to touch her but it looked curious. She reached out, fingertips brushing the shadow before it retreated through the cracks of her door, disappearing into the light.

After a long, scaldingly hot shower, Y/N decided to stay home for the day because of the pounding headache thanks to her and Feyre’s drinking session the night before. She sighed as she sunk into her bed, wearing only a fluffy bathrobe, content to lounge in bed the rest of the day. Unfortunately, someone had other plans. A knock at her front door startled her from her relaxed daze. She groaned, unwilling to get up and answer the door. Another knock, this time accompanied by a velvety voice.

“What happened? Too scared to come and face me?”

She muttered a curse under her breath and she stood, wrapping the robe just a little tighter around her body for good measure. She cracked the door open, just enough to peek through.

“What do you want, I’m in the middle of something.” He looked down at her, brows quirked up in amusement. He was holding a brown paper bag against his torso.

“In the middle of a bad hangover?” He motioned to the bag, “I have the world’s best cure, right here.”

She pulled the door open, ever so slightly, “I’m listening.”

“Let me in and it’s all yours.”

She considered his offer for a moment, lips twisted in silent contemplation. The two of them together, in a rather small apartment. Alone. What could possibly go wrong? “Fine – but no funny business. Keep your hands to yourself,” She pointed an accusing finger at him to which he responded with raised hands in mock surrender. She let him in, the door much too small to accommodate his tall frame and those absurdly large wings but he wiggled himself in anyway.

She snatched the bag from him and plopped down on the couch, not waiting for him to find a seat. She opened the bag and her mouth watered at the smell of the variety of greasy, fried foods he brought her. He must have seen the way her shoulders dropped in relief as she dug into the food, emitting a laugh from the normally stone faced man. She placed the bag on the table between them and pulled out the cartons of the fragrant food inside.

“What, I’m starving and hungover,” She said, in between bites. In the midst of her feast, she realized this was everything she’d usually order from Rita’s. Wedges of spicy fried potatoes, garlicky bites of chicken, and onion rings.

“You should drink some water,” He pulled a bottle of water from the bag.

She shook her head, “Nuh-uh, I’m not done yet.” His eyes narrowed, “Water. Now.”

Her eyes widened at the sudden change in tone, authoritative and stern (she didn’t want to admit it made her knees go weak and her stomach flutter). She reached to take the bottle from him but he pulled it back towards himself, causing her to stumble forward

“Dick,” She spat.

“If you want some, it’s right here,” He motioned downwards.

She leaned forward and snatched the bottle, taking a few dramatic gulps to ensure he wouldn’t pester her about drinking more later.

She sat back, hands over her stomach as she groaned, “I ate too much.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a genuine smile. She hated to admit it but she was beginning to enjoy hearing his laugh – and being the reason behind it. His shadows swirled around him, some of them pulling away from him but not quite able to reach their desired destination.

“How do they work?” He quirked an eyebrow in question.

“The shadows.”

“Ah. They obey me,” He said with a nod, the shadows slithered over his form and across the room. They hovered over her legs as he watched.

She gave him a look, “Well I could see that. But are they – alive? Do they have a mind of their own? Or are they just an extension of you? Did you capture them or were you somehow born with them?” She rambled.

He smiled at her sudden interest in him and his shadows. The shadows returned to their master.

“They’re sentient – if that’s what you mean by alive. They can feel things, sense things to an extent. Sometimes they slip from under my control but it’s easy to reign them back in,” He paused, contemplating how to answer her other questions. “My father used to lock me up in the dark. I would talk to the shadows, to feel less alone. One day, I suppose, the shadows decided to talk back. They became a part of me, tied to my pain – insistent on protecting me, helping me,” He explained, he was looking down at his hands now. She winced at his confession, at the suffering he must have endured as a child.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He smiled again, “Don’t be. It was centuries ago,” he waved off.

She held his gaze, entranced by those hazel eyes. She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were, only a small coffee table separating them.

“Thank you for the food,” She said, flustered under his gaze, “You didn’t eat anything–,” He cut her off before she could finish.

“I’m not hungry for food.”

She stilled. Her heart pounded in her ears. “I should go, I only wanted to make sure you were okay after you and Feyre drank your weight in alcohol,” He said. She sighed in relief.

“So you were spying on me!”

He shrugged, “You can’t expect me not to, especially if you’re drunk out of your mind.”

He stalked over to the door, wings tucked in tight to avoid bumping into anything.

“Don’t dream too much of me,” He said with a knowing smirk. She shoved him out the door and (semi) slammed it shut, exhaling as she slumped against the door.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to ignore the throbbing between her legs any longer. She sat up, thinking about the man who brought her food just a few hours ago. It wasn’t his dominating presence or his flirty comments that riled her up anymore – it was his vulnerability, his honesty. He confided in her, paid attention to the little details, made sure she was safe and taken care of. She peered at the corners of her room, looking for the shadows that writhed with life. When she spotted movement in the corner, she reached a hand out to it. The shadow moved like smoke, twisting and curling towards her outstretched hand, weaving in between her fingers. She giggled, it felt odd – the shadows weren’t solid, it felt almost like a cold breeze, she couldn’t quite grasp it but she could feel it there, real.

“I’m ready,” She spoke softly. The shadow twirled around her fingers before slipping out of the room to return to its master – eager to relay the news.

She sat in bed, knees to her chest as she waited anxiously for Azriel’s arrival. She heard the door unlock and saw the shadows pool into her room before he walked in. He looked at her with pure hunger in his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” She confessed.

“I think I can help with that,” He stalked over to her, body pulsing with energy. She scooted back, making space for him on the bed.

“Don’t I have to feed you first? Feyre said–,” He grabbed her feet from under her, yanking to straighten her out onto the bed. The force caused her to fall back against the bed.

“I have all I need right here,” He kneeled at the edge of the bed while his hands trailed up her bare legs.

Heat rushed to her face as he left a trail of kisses down her stomach, making his way down to her thighs – and Oh. He nipped at the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to the pulsing heat of her core.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his breath tickling her skin as he looked up at her.

She nodded, “I accept you as my mate, Azriel.”

That was all he needed. Azriel ripped off her shorts and panties in one motion, shadows thrumming to life behind him as he devoured her. His mouth found her core, his tongue lapping at the wetness that had already formed. He chuckled, causing vibrations to shoot up Y/N’s spine.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re soaking.” She whined in response. His tongue made a slow, tantalizing trail up her core before he settled on sucking that aching spot, instantly bringing her close to the edge. His hands roughly gripped the flesh of her thighs, keeping her spread open to his deliberations. She moaned his name, signaling how close she was to tipping over that blissful edge. He pulled away, causing her hips to buck up at the sudden interruption.

She whined, “Azriel?”

He placed gentle kisses moving up her stomach, hands roughly grabbing her breasts eliciting a gasp from Y/N. His tongue circled her left nipple before sucking on the gentle bud – electrifying her even further.

He pulled away, finally reaching her lips as he devoured her.

“Didn’t I say,” he broke the kiss, “that I would make you beg for mercy?” His lips returned to hers briefly, “that I would remind you of your obstinance?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say.

“Have you resigned to your fate?” She nodded.

“Good girl,” He whispered.

He pulled back from her, lifting his shirt off and sitting up to undo his pants. She swallowed as her eyes trailed down his body. He was made of pure muscle, tattoos black as night swirling across his torso made his muscular form even more prominent. Her eyes trailed down to his hips, licking her lips involuntarily.

“You’re drooling,” He said.

Her eyes shot back up to his, taking in the amusement written across his face.

“I was not,” She defended herself (rather pathetically). He only hummed, unconvinced and amused at the flustered girl before him.

She looked down at him once he finally revealed himself. Her eyes widened — in fear? Apprehension? She nervously wiggled her hips underneath him, unsure of how he could possibly fit.

“I don’t think—,” She was cut off by Azriel’s dangerously low voice. He leaned down, hot breath trailing up her neck, “You’re gonna take every inch like the good little slut that you are,” He whispered against her and then placed a few burning kisses behind her ear, causing her stomach to churn.

He smirked against her skin, pleased at how timid she suddenly became. He lined himself up against her, Y/N’s breaths now rapid in anticipation. He pushed himself forward, ever so slightly, allowing her to adjust to his tip. Her eyes rolled back at the sudden invasion, unable to control the lewd sounds that came out of her mouth. He pushed in deeper, drawing out another moan from the girl beneath him. She put a hand on his chest to stop him from going deeper, already overwhelmed with a wave of intense pleasure, it rolled through her core and nearly broke her. And this was just the beginning. He leaned his head down, lips finding sensitive spots on her jaw, her neck, trailing down to her collarbone while he waited for her to adjust. She clenched around him involuntarily, eliciting a snarl from the man. His shadows snaked up her legs, holding them apart as he sunk deeper. She gasped as he went deeper, inching closer and closer to her wall. She screamed out in pleasure, legs struggling against the shadows, hips bucking underneath him.

“Az! Please, it’s too much,” She gasped.

He hit her walls, pleased with her loss of composure. He pulled out and with a kiss on her lips, sunk right back in, all in one swift motion that had Y/N gasping for air. He continued to push into her as she writhed and moaned and clawed at him. Her brain had effectively shut off, the only thing she could feel, the only thing she could think about was his cruel, punishing cock pounding in and out of her.

“You were made to take all of me, you know that? The Cauldron created you, just for me,” He growled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts, “To be my plaything, my mate,” another thrust, “I bet you hate the idea of being bred but look at you, your cunt is milking my cock, going against everything you thought you believed in, desperate to be filled with my cum.”

She arched her back as he continued brutalizing her. Overwhelmed, she tried to push him off, give her space to breathe but he responded with shadows snaking up her arms, holding her against the bed, entirely at his mercy. She was fully restrained now, legs held wide apart, arms above her head. Her moans increased in pitch and pace, her body on the brink of total, ecstatic relief. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, Azriel kissed them away as he increased his rhythm. Her mouth agape, in a silent scream as he tore into her.

“Should I let you cum, hm?” He watched her intently, taking in every moan, every whimper, all the ways her face contorted in response to his hands on her body, his cock buried deep inside her.

“You’ve been such a good girl, taking me so well, and you’ve been on edge for weeks now,” He looked at her with a devilish grin. She whimpered.

“Beg for it, baby,” His voice was tauntingly soft. She scrunched her face, unable to make any sound let alone speak as he fucked her. He knew this as he slowed, bringing Y/N ever so slightly down from the high she could almost feel.

“No!” She called out desperately, “please, please Azriel. Don’t stop. I need to cum, please let me cum!” She screamed, her voice hoarse.

He picked up the pace again, rewarding her obedience.

“I’m sure that pretty mouth can do a lot better,” He chastised, “What do you need, Y/N, who do you need?”

“You! I need you Az, please! I need you to make me cum! Please, I’m begging you,” she pleaded.

“Who am I?”

When she didn’t answer, he pushed into her with an especially rough thrust.

“My mate!” She moaned in response.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You! Az, I belong to you!” Her voice strained as she inched painfully close to release.

He groaned as he picked up the pace, at this point Y/N saw stars, her teary eyes shut as Azriel’s final thrusts drove her over the edge, unable to make sound or focus on anything but the excruciating pleasure possessing her body. Her back arched as she panted through her orgasm. She felt a hot release inside her as Azriel groaned against her, his pace slowed and his body going taut as he finished too. The pleasure hadn’t stopped, it rolled through her like aftershocks of an earthquake, drawing out soft whimpers and moans.

“What do you say?” A hand gripped her chin.

“Thank you,” She said meekly.

He smiled and finally pulled out of her. His forehead resting against hers as their breaths came in and out. His arms snaked around her waist as he rolled them over to the side. His wings cocooning over her like a blanket, shadows resting lazily across their bodies. He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into his chest.

“I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow,” She whimpered.

“Good. It’ll teach you not to mouth off or deny me of what’s mine ever again,” He chuckled against her.

She didn’t have the strength to reply with some witty comment, she merely snuggled in closer, basking in his warmth and drifting off to the most restful sleep she’d ever had.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Azriel woke up to his shadows lazily trailing over his mate’s bare body. He admired her sleeping form, grateful for the moment of peace before he was forced to head off to work. His shadows heard this thought, sulking against her body possessively, unwilling to leave her so soon.

I know, I don’t wanna leave her either.

The shadows tickling her skin caused her to stir but not quite enough to wake up. His face turned stern, the shadows begrudgingly returning back to their master. She’d need her rest for when Azriel returned so he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and hastily wrote a note to explain his absence. The shadows reluctantly followed as Azriel left her room, but they stopped in the kitchen — insistent on starting a pot of coffee to brew along with some sliced fruits they set out on a plate. Azriel chuckled lightly at the shadows' instant attachment and show of affection to his mate.

She’s mine, he teased.

He felt the shadows bounce against his chest, trying to knock him off balance. He shook his head, exiting the apartment with the shadows rushing to keep up behind him.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar series #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction

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felixandresims · 1 year ago

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Hello Everyone:),

As the Chateau Set ended, I want to take you to a new destination. I have been thinking about the following subject for quite some time and my recent trip to the US made my decision final, we are going to New York City, precisely to SOHO.

It was an unusual beginning for me to start with the bathroom, but I wanted to have enough research time for a future exterior set. Seeing SOHO in real life was such a great experience and I feel very inspired :). After working on a traditional collection for quite some time it's refreshing to dive back into a modern aesthetic.

The bathroom consists of 23 items, you will get various sink options, double, single, monolithic, and basin-only versions, that either rest on a vanity or can have a shelf for 'Clutteration' underneath. I love a good bathtub, so you will get one of those. This Set includes a rainfall shower, plenty of mirror options, a sideboard, a stool, two rugs, and a lid-up Japanese toilet with a remote control. I also created Travertine/ stone walls and floors.

Harrie has started working on her new Minimalist Set called KLEAN and I couldn't resist using her new windows and doors in My Promo shot. If you would like to know more about what she created you can check it out HERE

SOHO Part 1 is on Early Access and you can find it here

In the coming months I will focus on the cast iron buildings and by the end of the SOHO I hope that you will be able to create the New York Loft of your dreams ;)

I hope you will like this collection, once again thank you so much for everything!!!

Lots of Love,

Felix xxx

#ts4cc #ts4 cc mm #ts4 cc finds #ts4cc download #ts4 maxis match #ts4 bathroom #new york #soho loft #felixandresims

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ladylannisterxo · 6 months ago

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... the one where spence takes an interest

Pairings; Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Words; 0.6k

Warnings; one use of Y/N but this was written back before I stopped using it lol but other than that, none, just fluff!

Summary; {requested} "Not to pester you, I had this thought and wanted to share is all, but could you imagine talking to Spencer about something you're really excited about (like a movie/tv show/game or something) and the next day he starts talking to you in length about it, and it turns out he went home that night and read/watched everything he could on the subject."

A/N; goodness, I wrote this years ago on another blog and since I've been rewatching Criminal Minds, I figured I'd go ahead and post it again (cause why not?)... the one and only thing I ever wrote for Dr. Spencer Reid ajdhsakdshak

{ masterlist }

You didn't plan this. Really, you didn't. But you know how it goes when you start binging a new tv series: just one more episode... and then before you know it, it's 2:00am.

Now you're sitting in the bullpen. It's 8:00am and you're constantly rubbing at your tired eyes and chugging coffee like your life depends on it.

And Spencer is wearing a curious expression, already extrapolating possibilities as to what could have kept you awake last night.

But he doesn't mention it. Not when the team is discussing the new case, not even on the jet en route to your destination. He waits until it's just you and him, paired off to go talk to the medical examiner about the latest victim.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, just a little tired."

He smiles warmly, offering you an amused glance before fixing his eyes back on the road. "I gathered. What kept you up?"

"You know, I just..."

But then you realize you don't want to tell him, not really. To you, staying up super late to watch a tv show seems embarrassing when compared to how he most likely spent his night.

You imagine that he read around six books, most of which were probably in a language you didn't understand. Or maybe he called his mom to check in with her. Or maybe he had nightmares himself and so he thinks that's exactly what happened with you...

Any scenario you think of infinitely sounds better than oh, you know, I just stayed up super late watching some trashy guilty pleasure tv show because I have no self control.

"Nothing really," you settle on, "it's dumb."

"Try me."

So you cave, mostly because you're too tired to fight. He listens intently as you tell him about the new show you found, how it's completely ridiculous but it allows you to step out of your life for a bit and relax.

He doesn't say much, just nods along as you talk and before you know it, you've arrived at your destination and it's back to work.

Spencer actually doesn't mention your conversation again for the remainder of the case and finally, the unsub is in custody and the team is back home to enjoy a nice, long weekend.

You don't see or hear from Spencer during this time but first thing Monday morning, he's greeting you as you step off the elevator with a cup of coffee and a bright smile.

... and then he tells you he spent the weekend watching the first season of the show you mentioned and to his surprise, he really enjoyed it.

To say you're confused is an understatement but you listen as he discusses every character and what he thinks of the current story arc.

"Spencer," you laugh, resting your hand on his arm and halting his speech. "Not that I'm not thrilled to talk about this but I really wasn't expecting you to go home and watch an entire season of a show just because I mentioned it."

He smiles sheepishly, eyes lingering on where your hand still rests on his arm.

"You were really excited about it though."

"And?"

"And it seemed important to you... so it's important to me."

A smile pulls itself across your face and you open your mouth to respond when you're both interrupted by Garcia letting you know there's another case.

"Hold that thought," you inquire.

"It's impossible for me to forget it."

And just like that, you're discussing trashy tv with Dr. Spencer Reid during any downtime that you're granted. You gush about your favorite character and he theorizes future story arcs while simultaneously pointing out behavioral inaccuracies.

"People do not speak like that in that kind of situation, Y/N."

"It's tv, Spence, it's supposed to be unrealistic. That's what makes it fun."

+ Bonus: if it's a series that is currently airing, you both come into the office the next morning and excitedly discuss every single thing that happened and then theorize on what could possibly happen next.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #writing by 's'

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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

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run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe.

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up.

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction.

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet.

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes.

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them.

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you.

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating.

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor.

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you.

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see. You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible.

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation.

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing.

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare.

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise.

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe.

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you.

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away.

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again.

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it.

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

#cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #bo writes #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost riley x you #dark fic #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

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wandering-winchesters · 3 months ago

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Sleepless Confessions

Summary: In the stillness of the bunker’s kitchen, a sleepless night turns into a tense, unspoken confession between you and Dean Winchester, where vulnerability and unspoken emotions crack through the surface, leaving both of you teetering on the edge of something deeper, unsure if you'll find peace or fall further into the darkness.

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:47 AM, its numbers glowing ominously in the dark. You’ve been staring at it for what feels like hours, counting down the minutes as anxiety claws at your insides, refusing to let you find peace. Your thoughts are racing, a relentless cycle of worries and what-ifs that keep you wide awake despite your body’s desperate need for rest.

You toss and turn, trying to will yourself to sleep, but it’s useless. The weight on your chest only grows heavier, making it impossible to relax. With a frustrated sigh, you throw the covers off and sit up, running a hand through your hair. There’s no point in staying in bed if you’re just going to lie there, suffocating in your own thoughts.

Quietly, you slip out of your room and head down the hallway, your footsteps nearly silent on the cold floor of the bunker. You don’t have a destination in mind—just the need to move, to escape the confines of your own head. Eventually, you find yourself in the kitchen, the dim light from the range hood casting a soft glow over the countertops.

You open the fridge, the cool air brushing against your face as you scan the contents. You’re not really hungry, but maybe a glass of milk or something will help calm your nerves. You’re just reaching for the carton when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Your heart sinks a little when you turn around and see Dean Winchester standing in the doorway. Of course, it’s Dean. Anyone else, and you might have been able to brush them off, but with him… Well, it’s complicated.

He’s wearing his usual sleep attire—a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt—and his hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene, clearly puzzled.

“What’re you doing up?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that breaks the silence. There’s no bite in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

You quickly turn back to the fridge, trying to hide the unease that’s bubbling up inside you. “Couldn’t sleep,” you reply, keeping your voice casual. “Thought I’d grab a drink.”

Dean steps further into the kitchen, his gaze never leaving you. “In the middle of the night?”

You shrug, pulling the carton of milk out and setting it on the counter. “Yeah. It happens.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you pour the milk into a glass. The silence between you stretches on, heavy and awkward, and you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s trying to figure out what’s really going on.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You grab the glass and turn to face him, forcing a small smile. “What about you? Why are you still up?”

Dean leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Same reason as you, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.”

The admission surprises you, and for a moment, you just stare at him. It’s rare for Dean to admit when something’s bothering him, even to Sam. But then again, you’ve noticed the subtle changes in him lately—the little signs of restlessness, the way he’s been more on edge than usual. It’s clear he’s dealing with his own demons, though you doubt he’d ever talk about them openly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your milk. “Seems like neither of us is getting much sleep these days.”

Dean nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. He’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder if he’s going to drop the subject. But then he looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft but serious.

The question hangs in the air, and you suddenly feel exposed, like he’s peeling back the layers you’ve worked so hard to keep in place. You’ve never been good at letting people in, especially not Dean. The way he challenges you, the way he always seems to get under your skin—it’s easier to keep your distance, to maintain the walls that keep your emotions in check.

But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the weight of your sleeplessness pressing down on you, those walls feel fragile, ready to crack at any moment.

“I don’t know,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You immediately regret it, wishing you could take them back. But it’s too late now.

Dean’s expression softens, and for a second, you see something like concern flicker in his eyes. He steps closer, his posture less guarded than usual. “What’s going on, Y/N? You’ve been off lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The last thing you want to do is burden him with your problems. Dean’s got enough on his plate as it is, and the idea of opening up to him—of all people—feels both terrifying and absurd.

But there’s a part of you that wants to. A part that’s tired of carrying it all on your own.

“It’s just… everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like, every time I try to sleep, all these thoughts keep coming at me—things I’ve done, things I’m worried about, stuff that could go wrong… It’s just too much.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his expression. But when he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, almost understanding.

“Yeah. I get that.”

You glance up at him, surprised. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no teasing or sarcasm—just a quiet understanding that catches you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You’re so used to the back-and-forth with Dean, the way you’ve always butted heads, that this softness feels foreign. But it’s also comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

Dean shifts his weight, leaning against the counter next to you. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s oddly grounding, like an anchor in the midst of your spiraling thoughts.

“I get it, Y/N,” he repeats, his tone low and sincere. “It’s not easy to shut that stuff off. Trust me, I’ve been there more times than I can count.”

You look at him, really look at him, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, the lines etched into his skin from years of carrying burdens that no one should have to bear. Dean’s been through hell—literally—and somehow, he’s still standing. If anyone would understand what it’s like to be kept awake by anxiety and fear, it’s him.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice small, almost hopeful.

Dean nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. I don’t talk about it much, but… sometimes, it feels like my brain’s running a marathon. Can’t slow it down, can’t turn it off. And when you’re stuck in that loop, it’s damn near impossible to get any sleep.”

You bite your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. There’s something about hearing him admit that he struggles too, that he’s not as invincible as he seems, that makes you feel a little less alone. Like maybe you’re not as broken as you thought.

“What do you do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “When it gets like that?”

Dean hesitates, glancing away for a moment before answering. “I usually just… keep busy. Work on the car, clean my guns, watch crappy TV. Anything to keep my mind off it. But that’s just me. Sometimes, talking about it helps too. You know, getting it out there instead of letting it fester.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. You’ve never been one to open up, especially not to Dean. But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the night pressing in around you, it doesn’t feel so impossible. It feels… safe, somehow.

“I’ve just been feeling overwhelmed,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “There’s so much going on, and I’m scared I’m going to mess it all up. And then I start thinking about everything that could go wrong, and it just… it feels like too much.”

Dean doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze steady and focused on you. There’s no judgment, no impatience—just a quiet understanding that makes it easier to keep talking.

“And I know it’s stupid,” you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “I know I should just let it go, but I can’t. It’s like my brain won’t stop reminding me of all the ways I could fail, all the mistakes I’ve made, and it keeps me up at night. It’s exhausting, Dean.”

He nods, his expression softening even more. “It’s not stupid, Y/N. We all have those moments. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve stayed up worrying about stuff I can’t control. But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re still standing, and that’s what matters.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that, to have someone acknowledge your struggles and remind you that you’re not alone in them.

“Thanks,” you whisper, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I just… I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Dean gives you a small, almost sad smile. “I get that. I’m not exactly the poster boy for emotional support, but… I’m here. And I mean that, Y/N. If you ever need to talk, or just… not be alone, I’m here.”

It’s a simple offer, but it means the world to you. For so long, you’ve been keeping everyone at arm’s length, afraid to let them see the cracks in your armor. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to do that anymore. Maybe it’s okay to let someone in, to lean on them when things get too heavy.

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I appreciate that, Dean. Really.”

He nods back, and for a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet of the kitchen, the weight of the night pressing down on you both. But this time, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. With Dean there, it feels manageable, like maybe you can get through it.

“Come on,” Dean finally says, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s go back to bed. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words settle over you like a warm blanket. There’s a comfort in the simplicity of his suggestion, in the way he doesn’t push you to confront everything right now. Just one step at a time, one moment of peace in the chaos.

“Yeah,” you agree softly, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Dean gives you a small, reassuring smile, one that reaches his eyes in a way you don’t often see. It’s a glimpse of the man behind the armor, the one who cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.

You set your glass of milk down on the counter, realizing you don’t need it anymore. The anxiety that had you in its grip has loosened its hold, if only just a little. And that’s enough for now.

Dean waits for you, not in a hurry, just letting you move at your own pace. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel like he’s really there for you, not just in words but in action. As you turn to leave the kitchen, he falls into step beside you, his presence a steadying force.

The walk back to your room is quiet, the silence between you companionable rather than tense. The bunker is still, the only sounds the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the floor beneath your feet. It’s late—too late for conversations like this, but somehow, it feels like the perfect time.

When you reach your door, you pause, turning to face Dean. He stops too, his gaze meeting yours with that same steady intensity. There’s something unspoken between you, something that wasn’t there before—an understanding, a connection that feels deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

“Thanks, Dean,” you say again, feeling the need to express your gratitude one more time. “For everything.”

He nods, his expression softening in that way that’s becoming more familiar. “Anytime, Y/N. You know where to find me.”

There’s a moment where you consider saying more, opening up even further, but you decide against it. This is enough for tonight. You’ve taken a step forward, and that’s what matters.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, reaching for the doorknob.

“Goodnight,” Dean replies, his voice low and warm.

You open the door and step inside, but before you close it, you glance back at him one last time. He’s still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression. It’s almost as if he’s making sure you’re really okay before he leaves.

With a small smile, you close the door behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. The bed is still rumpled from your earlier restlessness, but as you crawl back under the covers, it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming anymore. The anxiety is still there, lurking at the edges of your mind, but it’s muted now, softened by the memory of Dean’s words and his presence.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, and this time, sleep doesn’t seem so far out of reach. You know the worries will still be there in the morning, but somehow, it feels like you might be able to face them with a little more strength. After all, you’re not alone in this.

As you drift off, the last thing you think about is the way Dean looked at you—like he really saw you, like he cared. And for the first time in a long time, that thought brings you a sense of peace.

In the hallway, Dean stands for a moment longer, staring at your closed door. There’s a part of him that wants to knock, to make sure you’re really okay, but he knows you need your space. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He’s never been great at this—at connecting with people, at being there for them in the ways that matter. But tonight, he thinks he might have done something right. And that’s a start.

With one last glance at your door, Dean turns and heads down the hall toward his own room. He’s tired, the weight of the day—and the night—settling heavily on his shoulders. But there’s a lightness in his chest, too, a sense of relief that he doesn’t fully understand.

Maybe it’s because, for once, he didn’t push someone away. Maybe it’s because he let himself be there for you, and in doing so, found a little bit of peace for himself too.

When he finally lies down in bed, sleep comes easier than he expected. And as he drifts off, his last thought is of you—of the way you looked at him, of the trust that seemed to pass between you in those quiet moments in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, he’s content to just let it be.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester falls asleep with a sense of hope.

tag list: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz

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thewertsearch · 4 months ago

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@relaxxattack asked: hi, maxx the troll romance guy again. ₊ ⊹ ☆ it’s finally my moment for me to bust out my big quadrant talk! as in, i had the time to sit down and write this. (and apologies in advance for subjecting you to this much nerdiness. hopefully, it’s at least somewhat illuminating, to make up for that). i’m not sure what your current opinions on troll romance are, but i wanted to discuss the idea that kismesissitude is inherently unhealthy / impossible to achieve by teenaged trolls. lots of people who read homestuck get very stuck on the idea that kismesissitude is a feeling of hatred. they run with their human assumptions of this word, imagining that a kismesissitude is an angry, horrible relationship of abuse and hurt. but, if you’ll bear with me, it’s actually shown throughout the comic that this is completely untrue. trolls do not use the word hate the same way that we do. in fact, this is pretty obvious, because they also continuously use the word “pity” in a completely different way than we do. each of these are actually more related to a completely different word: LOVE.

you can see, in this initial conversation surrounding quadrants, that trolls consider hate and pity to actually come from the same exact place (though they consider that a negative thing). you can also see in that conversation that you need a good mix of both for any of the quadrants to work. karkat calls vriska out on supposedly “hating people too much” in a way that would “make her a bad kismesis”. this tells us almost immediately off the bat that A. even other trolls consider vriska and tavros’s relationship unbalanced and unhealthy! and B. each quadrant needs a proper mix of emotions for a proper relationship. a lot of people assume that kismeses are “supposed” to kill each other, mainly because of the fate of jack noir and the queen. this, too, is a misunderstanding. jack noir and the queen, like mom and dad who they are explicitly paralleling, are meant to be regarded as tragic. both couples end in tragedy, as expected for almost every “parental figure” in homestuck; this is unrelated to their kismesissitude.

in fact, in this conversation eridan has with kanaya, it is stated that a kismesissitude that ends in deaths is an extremely rare, powerfully tragic romance that happens “once in ten thousand years”– and immediately after, it is stated that a kismesissitude that might become like this needs an auspistice. that’s right, trolls are so committed to healthy kismesissitudes that they have an entire system in place to stop them from becoming toxic. the vriska/kanaya/tavros auspisticism, while a failure on every conceivable level, was born out of the necessity that the other trolls considered vriska’s torment of tavros unhealthy. even among her fellow trolls, in a society that explicitly encouraged casteiesm and ableism, vriska’s treatment of tavros was still considered too toxic for a proper kismesissitude.

vriska and eridan, who were in a kismesissitude before vriska became bored of eridan, were allies in their roleplaying games. much like the ancestors they were emulating, (who even supposedly “cherished” their own black relationship!); they explicitly traded and shared their rewards and goods with each other because of their romantic relationship with each other, and were said to work together in flarp well enough to be feared by others. of course, they also competed with each other to be the best– because they are rivals– but rivalry does not constitute toxticity. they called each other “allies” and “competitors”. not enemies. though perhaps being enemies would be an interesting kismesis slowburn; in the end, two kismesis should not kill each other. they are on the same team. how could they not be, when trolls believe in one troll who is literally destined to be their perfect rival, a life partner who they must have a long-term relationship with in order to properly meet the alternian drone rules? killing each other makes no feasible sense.

as vriska and eridan talk about here, a rivalry between trolls is something fun for both of them. that is why they must hate each other “equally”-- they need to feel on equal footing, so that they can both have fun. that’s what a rivalry is for trolls. it’s fun! (fun fact: another definition of the word "rival" is "an equal"). (eridan’s pitch solicitation towards sollux is absolutely laughable in comparison. he throws meaningless, casteist insults, and sollux does not give a single fuck about him. as other trolls mention; this is very obviously fake. they are clearly not feeling anything mutual or respectful for each other. he merely is trying to goad feferi into an ashen retaliation with his shitty pitch advances, and it’s not even working.) and that brings me finally to john and karkat. i remember seeing confusion on this blog about the nature of karkat’s feelings– 'why is he helping john? doesn’t he ‘hate’ him? he must not REALLY feel pitch romance for him, and he’s just confused.' well you see, that’s the thing. the reason karkat’s first message to john was a love poem is because that is what kismesissitude is. it was karkat’s way of saying; “you’re special to me. i would like to bug you to see if you feel the same way.” it’s not as if strangely romantic healthy rivalries between teenagers are even an unheard of or new concept. they’re fairly common in television shows and anime; hell there’s even multiple tvtropes pages for them! it’s not impossible that two people in a story could have a healthy rivalry fun enough that they both end up missing it should it be gone. (looking at you, perry and doof.) it’s even more likely that teenagers, as vibrant and strange as their many emotions can be, could pull this off. of course, they make lots of mistakes. they’re young teenagers raised on the murder ableism planet. of course most of the shit they try to do is unhealthy. they make just as many earth-like mistakes with their hearts as they do with their spades. that doesn’t mean it’s impossible for them, or bad for them to try. especially since pairs like vriska and eridan seem to have even pulled it off! basically, what i’m saying is, they’re like sasuke and naruto (reference). let teenagers have hatecrushes! it’s cuter than you think! :P [if it isn’t obvious, this is all super lighthearted and silly. unfortunately it’s my brand to be the guy who’s REALLY passionate about troll romance. i sincerely hope this wasn’t too hard to read, and i’m really sorry about submitting such a long thing, but i couldn’t manage to cut it down any further 😭 have a great rest of your night/day!]

(Images added by me - partially for illustrative purposes, and partially because Tumblr tends to complain when a single block-quote is that large.)

Love love love this detailed breakdown. It outlines a blackrom framework which is a lot more nuanced than the infodump's original description of kismesissitude. There's a lot of really interesting stuff here, and I've actually been working on this response for the past week, while AFKing on my Minecraft server.

As you can imagine, I agree with many of the points raised here, and disagree with others. I think the best approach is to go through the essay point-by-point, and break down my thoughts.

lots of people who read homestuck get very stuck on the idea that kismesissitude is a feeling of hatred[...], imagining that a kismesissitude is an angry, horrible relationship of abuse and hurt. [...] it’s actually shown throughout the comic that this is completely untrue. trolls do not use the word hate the same way that we do. [...]

This one I just fully agree with. The Alternian concept of 'hate' isn't equivalent to ours, and they'll often use it in ways that are completely incompatible with our definition.

When Karkat 'fell in hate' with John, his actual antagonism was very obviously performative. As you mentioned above, several parts of his original rant wouldn't look out of place in a love confession.

Karkat doesn't just message John out of temporal obligation. There's a clear sense, even in their early conversations, that he's enjoying their interactions on some level. If his feelings here really are black romance - and there's no textual evidence that they're not - then this alone is enough to prove kismesissitude isn't true human hatred.

The trolls also use 'hate' in the human sense, too, which muddies the waters a little. It's even highlighted as a problem in-comic, with trolls having to disambiguate their hatred in conversation in much the same way humans disambiguate between platonic and romantic love.

they also continuously use the word “pity” in a completely different way than we do. each of these are actually more related to a completely different word: LOVE. you can see, in this initial conversation surrounding quadrants, that trolls consider hate and pity to actually come from the same exact place (though they consider that a negative thing).

As for pity, I'm still not entirely sure what it means to trolls. Unlike hate, it's only been brought up once, by Karkat.

His 'hate and pity' dichotomy isn't referenced anywhere else in the comic, and it's unclear whether he's describing an accepted fact of life, a sociological theory, or a trope from his beloved romcoms. I don't really have enough data to speculate.

you can also see in that conversation that you need a good mix of both for any of the quadrants to work. karkat calls vriska out on supposedly “hating people too much” in a way that would “make her a bad kismesis”. this tells us almost immediately off the bat that [...] each quadrant needs a proper mix of emotions for a proper relationship.

I believe your assertion here is that each quadrant requires both hate and pity. While definitely an interesting theory, I wasn't able to find canonical evidence that a healthy redrom requires hatred, or that a healthy blackrom requires pity.

I meant what I said, though - it is a compelling theory. If we do read troll 'hatred' as a type of friendly rivalry, then maybe it is important in redrom, serving as the 'spark' that keeps things fresh. Furthermore, if we read 'pity' as something bordering on affection, then it probably is necessary for a healthy blackrom.

I really like the space you're playing in, here. There is something to this idea, and I'd love for Karkat to elaborate on it.

[...] even other trolls consider vriska and tavros’s relationship unbalanced and unhealthy!

Text it! If the full Vriska/Tavros mess was public knowledge, basically everyone would consider Vriska's behavior beyond atrocious, blackrom or no blackrom. I'm not even sure if Eridan would be OK with it - and Gamzee, of course, is currently excluded from this discussion.

If the Veil's trolls are a representative sample of Alternian culture, then Vriska's 'blackrom' with Tavros is just as abusive there as it would have been on Earth. Even Alternia has limits.

a lot of people assume that kismeses are “supposed” to kill each other, mainly because of the fate of jack noir and the queen. this, too, is a misunderstanding. jack noir and the queen, like mom and dad who they are explicitly paralleling, are meant to be regarded as tragic. both couples end in tragedy, as expected for almost every “parental figure” in homestuck; this is unrelated to their kismesissitude. in fact, in this conversation eridan has with kanaya, it is stated that a kismesissitude that ends in deaths is an extremely rare, powerfully tragic romance that happens “once in ten thousand years”

This tracks, as well. If blackrom was allowed to end with murder, then there'd be a lot less soldiers being ferried off the planet every year. Alternian children are a resource to the Empire, and more murder-couples means less murder-platoons.

Vriska does think it would be acceptable for her to murder Tavros, but she frames it as a consequence of classism, not blackrom. This would be much more acceptable to the Empire, as a blueblood like Vriska is destined to be a high-ranking officer. She's not killing a partner, here - she's punishing insubordination.

– and immediately after, it is stated that a kismesissitude that might become like this needs an auspistice. that’s right, trolls are so committed to healthy kismesissitudes that they have an entire system in place to stop them from becoming toxic. the vriska/kanaya/tavros auspisticism, while a failure on every conceivable level, was born out of the necessity that the other trolls considered vriska’s torment of tavros unhealthy. even among her fellow trolls, in a society that explicitly encouraged casteiesm and ableism, vriska’s treatment of tavros was still considered too toxic for a proper kismesissitude.

I won't second-guess the utility of auspisticism in situations like this. It makes perfect sense that the role exists, and it certainly does an important job.

However, once again, I really don't understand the monogamy aspect. Helping a loved one escape a toxic or abusive relationship should not be a one-person job, and enforcing that requirement serves to sabotage what could have been a much more effective social role.

Like - imagine that, upon becoming VrisTav's auspistice, Kanaya's first action was to call for backup. If she was allowed to introduce additional auspistices to the situation, such as Aradia or Terezi, then Vriska wouldn't have been able to continue tormenting Tavros as soon as Kanaya turned her back. It takes a village, guys!

vriska and eridan, who were in a kismesissitude before vriska became bored of eridan, were allies in their roleplaying games. much like the ancestors they were emulating, (who even supposedly “cherished” their own black relationship!); they explicitly traded and shared their rewards and goods with each other because of their romantic relationship with each other, and were said to work together in flarp well enough to be feared by others. of course, they also competed with each other to be the best– because they are rivals– but rivalry does not constitute toxticity. they called each other “allies” and “competitors”. not enemies. [...] as vriska and eridan talk about here, a rivalry between trolls is something fun for both of them. that is why they must hate each other “equally”-- they need to feel on equal footing, so that they can both have fun. that’s what a rivalry is for trolls. it’s fun!

Eridan/Vriska is a relationship I wish we'd seen on-panel, because this one is really hard to picture. Eridan's personality doesn't feel at all compatible with Vriska's, and I don't understand what she saw in him.

Vriska is one of the smartest, most resourceful, most dangerous trolls around, and there was apparently a time she thought of Eridan as a rival. As an equal. All he really has to offer is an overpowered weapon, and Vriska's already got one of those.

Sure, she got bored later, but unless Eridan has some extremely hidden depths, she should have been bored from day one. How did their rivalry even work?

I think the problem here is that we haven't seen any non-toxic kismesissitudes. Vriska/Tavros is a nightmare, Equius/Aradia was mind control, Eridan/Vriska happened offscreen, and John/Karkat never happened at all. It's difficult to extrapolate what a non-awful kismesissitude might look like, when we've only seen the worst the quadrant has to offer. Actually seeing Vriska's spades with Eridan, instead of having it described second-hand, might help to clear this up, but that seems fairly unlikely at this point.

This, at least, is a problem that might solve itself. We've still got a lot of comic to go, and the passion its fandom has for the quadrants makes it clear that they're not going anywhere. I don't think I'll be able to pass my final judgement on kismesissitude until we've seen one that actually works. I really like the idea of a romance centered around friendly rivalry - I just wish the comic would show me one!

and that brings me finally to john and karkat. i remember seeing confusion on this blog about the nature of karkat’s feelings– 'why is he helping john? doesn’t he ‘hate’ him? he must not REALLY feel pitch romance for him, and he’s just confused.' well you see, that’s the thing. the reason karkat’s first message to john was a love poem is because that is what kismesissitude is. it was karkat’s way of saying; “you’re special to me. i would like to bug you to see if you feel the same way.” it’s not as if strangely romantic healthy rivalries between teenagers are even an unheard of or new concept. they’re fairly common in television shows and anime; hell there’s even multiple tvtropes pages for them! it’s not impossible that two people in a story could have a healthy rivalry fun enough that they both end up missing it should it be gone. (looking at you, perry and doof.)

Like, this sounds cool! You're describing a really fun version of kismesissitude, here - one which brings to mind Wright and Edgeworth, Sonic and Shadow, and a dozen other popular couples.

This interpretation would be less dangerous for teenagers - it certainly worked for Lumity - and again, I just hope we eventually see something like this on-panel!

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #asks

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akutasoda · 2 months ago

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"you took my heart, my colour and drained my soul"

synopsis - they believe your soulmates and deny it. but in the event that they find out that you weren't theirs, they wish they acted upon their feelings sooner

includes - blade, ruan mei, argenti, sunday, acheron, feixiao

warnings - gn!reader, slight fluff, angst no comfort, soulmate color au, pining, slight jealousy, wc - 3.3k

a/n: this took so long and is kinda awful... had to ask a couple lovelies for characters so shouts to the amazing @mitsvriii who asked for blade, @ughscara for acheron, and @tragedy-of-commons for ruan mei and feixiao ^^ extra shouts to the number one blade kisser @https-sourlimes for proof reading his part and a very unhappy day (/j) to @.pneumosia for the banner. you made this happen 🫵

blade ★↷

he never cared that he couldn't see color.

even in those distant memories of someone he used to be, he couldn't see color. it wasn't a necessity to him however. wielding a sword and becoming one didn't require such trivial matters. the monochrome only served to keep him focused as he was never one to believe in such trivial matters like “love”.

so it confused him when his previously lifeless vision erupted into a display of color and life. it took him by surprise. never would he expect to meet somebody that would be deemed as his “soulmate” and now it was a possibility he had, blade needed to pinpoint exactly who it was - he didn't exactly even want a soulmate.

although it didn't take him long to realize just who the culprit was. he'd worked with the other hunters forever and none gave his vision color, except you. the brand new recruit. it was you. so surely that must mean you had color now as well, so would you also realize?

if you did, you would have to be the one to approach the subject. blade decided then and there that he would try and ignore the bond. he pretended he still couldn't see color, which wasn't too difficult, and he kept up his usual pretense with you which consisted of strictly work related talk.

just because he now knew he had a soulmate didn't mean he had to acknowledge it. the idea was scary for him. the fact that there was someone out there destined for him… made to heal his heart, to love a wanted criminal, someone he wasn't deserving of. and yet there was. but he didn't want to acknowledge that, he wasn't deserving of that.

so it was never brought up. by him, by you, it went unspoken and no-one else around you knew any wiser.

he didn't want a soulmate, you didn't deserve to be shackled down to a destined life with him. and that's what he constantly told himself. eventually blade could ignore it, go about his life the way he did before.

so why did he feel this way?

it was simply another day for him, he stood idly listening to kafka talk with the other hunters and he noticed something. the color is his vision started bleeding away, the brightness turning into that familiar monochrome that he was well acquainted with.

the next thing he knew, he had shot from his position and tried finding you - the other hunters had never seen him move so quickly. something had happened to you, there was no other explanation, the only way a soulmate could lose their color again was if something fatal had happened to their soulmate. he needed to find you.

and yet, he found you completely unharmed. in fact you were buzzing. when your eyes landed on his figure you smiled and ran over to him and began ranting about the person you just met and how you could finally see color again. but blade stopped listening. the color had finally disappeared fully and it dawned on him.

he wasn't your soulmate. you weren't his.

he was a blip, a mistake. blade shouldn't have been so foolish. shouldn't have given himself that hope that someone was ever right for him - even if he denied it. his heart had been stabbed, yet again. even the universe knew he didn't deserve you and so it gave him that false hope just for amusement when his hopes got crushed.

blade wanted you to not be his soulmate. and yet now that he knows you're not, he wants you more than ever. but you're happier. overjoyed at finally finding your soulmate unaware that blade desperately wished he was that person for you.

ruan mei ★↷

the idea of a soulmate was always somewhat fascinating to her. the concept of having a perfect significant other that was destined to find the other eventually and live out the rest of their lives together, it was truly intriguing. even more so when she factored in the color that could be seen when someone found their destined other.

if she wasn't already so dedicated to her research, ruan mei figured that she might have spent some time investigating the phenomenon. however, it wouldn't of been for the interest of finding her own or the natural chemistry of why people fell in love. no. it would be more about how people knew they found their soulmates, how the colors knew to fill one's vision.

after all, she couldn't see color herself. it quizzed her into trying to think of a way to fill her world with such tones, a way without finding her soulmate. it wasn't exactly a surprise to see her as the type to not want to seek out that special someone. her brain was focused on bigger things.

ideas she could test, aeonhood to ascend to, and a wide list of things to complete. anything that she achieved would only distance her from that someone. it was best for both ruan mei and her soulmate to never meet. even if it hurt that someone, it was best for the both of you.

but fate wouldn't see it that way. instead, fate brought you into her life. and from your very first meeting it was obvious. the way that color exploded into her vision nearly took her by surprise. and she clocked on immediately, you were her soulmate. you had been brought together after all this time.

but this wasn't what she wanted. so ruan mei ignored it. you would've had the same experience and probably knew, but maybe she could convince you that it wasn't her. that way ruan mei could push away the reality of knowing she had a soulmate.

although, she still kept up friendly appearances with you - you did work in similar fields after all. but she hadn't ever anticipated a certain possibility…

it was a regular day in her lab when it happened.

the color was leaving her sight. and as she watched hopelessly the color drain from her vision, she heard her phone go off. and so she looked over to her phone - you were one of the only one's she kept notifications on for during work, and ever really. it was a barrage of messages of you excitedly telling her about you and your new research partner. and how you could see color-

it was all monochrome. the color was gone.

a miscalculation. that's what had happened. something had gone wrong and she was the outlier. a failure, just like some of her experiments. ruan mei figured she would've been happy about this, you couldn't be a distraction anymore. so why , instead of responding like usual, did she turn her phone off. ghosting you.

argenti ★↷

living life without color could have ups and downs. it wasn't too bad and didn't hinder his everyday life. but when he devoted himself to serve under the aeon of beauty, part of beauty was seeing color. although he did argue with himself that even true beauty could be found in a world full of shades of black and white.

it became his world. the prospect of a soulmate always intrigued him but rather admittedly, his devotion to idrilla outweighed his desire to ever seek them out. if they ever so happened to find their way into his life then so be it, he would take up the opportunity presented to him. but otherwise he wouldn't seek them out.

that was until he ran into you. a fellow wanderer who ventured through the universe. you two hit it off almost immediately, it felt like a fated encounter.

and then he saw it. that newfound beauty of color, of you. it was as if idrilla themselves were blessing him. he finally found his soulmate. and he knew it was an outlandish request but after all this time, he met his soulmate. so would it be selfish for him to ask you to join him in his travels?

the company would be welcome and who better than you? his soulmate. so argenti was overjoyed when you accepted his idea and you began traveling alongside the knight. the time you two spent together was greatly cherished. argenti used the time to get to know you better, even if you were fated to be, he still barely knew you when that was realized.

however, while you two became dear friends, argenti started feeling uneasy. you never acted liked you knew. it was as if the concept that argenti was your soulmate was nothing more than that, sometimes he swore you couldn't actually see color. which would mean…

no. he was overthinking.

or at least he thought he was. the two of you had made a brief stop on a planet, argenti had some business to attend to and so you went looking around. and when he finished he looked for you, he wouldn't drag you away if you were busy, he just wanted to know you were okay.

but even then, concern flooded his mind when the color that you had granted him started bleeding away. panic set in and he rushed to find you, something must of happened. something bad - what he didn't know was that it was only bad for him.

he found you perfectly unharmed, talking with someone, someone that made you smile and laugh the way he wished he could. and by the time he saw you wave him over, his world had been plunged into the familiar monochrome that he knew before he met you.

you excitedly told him how you could now see color, unknowing that he just lost all of his, and how this person was your soulmate. argenti wasn't. it felt like a cruel stab to his heart. he listened to you talk about potentially staying there and argenti tried so hard to not object.

you wanted this. he didn't control your life, he wasn't even your soulmate anymore. but it still hurt. not only had he lost someone he loved dearly. but he'd lost you, his cherished travel companion.

sunday ★↷

he always despised the idea of soulmates. the idea that there was something that determined the very fate of a relationship was ridiculous. a perfect partner for someone was destined without their knowledge. yes, soulmates are meant to be the perfect match for someone but sunday still wanted to deny that it was true.

sunday was even confident enough to say that he would be able to ignore having a soulmate. living with monochrome vision wasn't exactly difficult, it was adaptable especially after going so long without it. there was also the fact he wasn't exactly all that keen on having one in general.

even when he met you, when his world finally had color, he wanted to deny it. no, it was a mistake. he didn't want to have a soulmate.

he struggled with the idea that you were truly the perfect match for him. it tormented him. mocked and messed with him. but in his struggle he felt it.

it was painful. it was as if someone had taken a hot iron and pierced it straight through his heart. metaphorically of course, realistically he couldn't feel a thing - some may say that was worse. sunday could only watch helplessly as his vision yet again plunged into a colorless void.

the vibrant colors bled from his vision and all he could do was watch helplessly.

then it occurred to him, the colors could only drain if something happened to your soulmate, something that normally they couldn't come back from. he had to find you. sunday needed to know you were safe. the draining colors only urged him to find you faster. what if something horrible happened? he swore to hunt-

he stopped.

there you were, with someone he couldn't care less about, but he couldn't miss the sight of you smiling at them. sunday didn't understand? if you were okay, why was the color bleeding in his vision?

you soon turned to see sunday staring at you, you smiled and walked over to him after bidding farewell to the other person. sunday soon listened to your ecstatic ramblings about how you could finally see color, how that person was your soulmate - but he couldn't hear anything anymore. static clogged his ears and the color in his vision vanished.

oh.

he wasn't your soulmate.

he was never meant to be. something had built up his heart, his hope, just for it to all be violently ripped away from him just like that. all he could muster was a painful smile and false words of celebration.

acheron ★↷

if acheron was to be one hundred percent truthful, she never imagined meeting her soulmate. and if by some miracle she did, she unfortunately would make it clear she had no intention to keep them by her side. it sounded cruel but she never really saw herself as one to develop such relationships with others. acheron did understand that soulmates were meant to be, and she did feel pity for the one fated to her but there were other factors that came before the destiny bestowed upon two people fated to be.

she constantly moved around. the chances of her bumping into her soulmate were slim, they decreased further when she decided that she wouldn't even make an effort to search for hers. living with the monochrome vision wasn't all that bad, it barely affected day to day life - especially when someone had lived with it for so long like her.

so it came as a massive surprise when her world erupted into color after bumping into a complete stranger. acheron’s mind was clouded with thoughts and she barely acknowledged those around her, so she accidentally walked straight into you. after letting out an apology she noticed.

the color that suddenly streaked through her vision. ot caused her to stop for a moment. acheron knew she was adamant or ignoring the possibility of soulmates. but now? when she was face to face with that very person, she felt compelled to feel differently.

maybe she could stay a few extra days, get to know you a bit better. admittedly it was rather a shock that this stranger showed interest into getting to know you, but something about her drew you to her. made her seem like less of a stranger.

acheron never thought she'd feel this way about anyone, let alone her soulmate. she thought she would be immune to the concept and yet, here she was. seeing you as someone she could share her life with. it scared her even, the idea was foreign to acheron. and yet, she so desperately wanted to deny it.

so why did she try and desperately cling to the color that bled from her vision? why did she immediately try and find you to make sure you weren't hurt? why did she feel so hurt seeing you completely unharmed smiling at someone else?

and as the color completely vanished from her vision yet again, she remembered why she was so adamant on avoiding the topic at first. somehow acheron was a mistake. she wasn't your soulmate - a part of her was glad, you deserved someone better than her.

feixiao ★↷

a part of her was always intrigued by the concept, a child like wonder for the idea that one day she would meet the person determined for her by the universe and her world would light up - metaphorically and literally. it would be a comfort to know that when she met that fated one, it was meant to be. no heartbreak, no concerns about whether or not the two could ever make it work. because it would be meant to be.

unfortunately, as she got older, she lost that child-like wonder. not all of it, but enough for her to stop trying to wish, hope, even try to predict the day that her world would burst into color. alas, it had not happened so far. and after becoming a general she hardly had the time to even spare it a second thought. feixiao had more important and pressing matters that needed attending too, rather than searching for her soulmate. if they were really meant to be with her, they would find her eventually.

and maybe that's what she should've done in the past. as she met you by accident. walking through the yaoqing, originally with the purpose of heading to a certain location but feixiao quickly became distracted by the sight and smell of your stand amongst the various others. feixiao had never seen you around this area before and so she reckoned she could spare a few minutes to check it out - rather admittedly, the smell reminded her of the gnawing hunger in her gut.

although, when she reached your stall and began talking with you, feixiao became less intrigued about what her initial intentions were and more about the person behind the stall. you. it didn't go unmissed how color now started peeking into the corners of her vision, eventually the entire world burst into vibrant arrays. it took all of feixaios restraint to try and not make it obvious to you, although if she had this revelation, surely you did as well? but you never mentioned anything, or even looked surprised, if anything you expressed a concern for how silent and dazed the general had quickly become. feixiao composed herself and politely dismissed your worries before quickly making a purchase and walking away.

you noticed very quickly just how frequent of a customer feixiao had become. most days she would make her way over to your stall, always purchasing something and subsequently bringing in more customers, and hanging around. you always asked the question of her not having anything better to do as the general of the yaoqing but she always assured you that if she had, she wouldn't be here. feixiao was convinced you were her soulmate. but she still wanted to know more about you before bringing anything up, to get to know you more. but something nagged at the back of her mind, you didn't seem at all phased by the fact that you two were indeed soulmates and if anything you seemed oblivious to it.

although her nag was answered. it was another day of her heading over to your stall and yet something was wrong. she was losing the ability to see color. something that should only happen if one's soulmate was in grave danger. she had to find you, to protect you. she wasted no time in rushing over and only wavered upon seeing you happily talk away with someone. it didn't feel like you were talking to a regular customer, no it seemed more personal. you saw her and waved her over before excitedly introducing her to your soulmate. and that's when all the color disappeared. her vision plunged back into that monochrome world, but this time with much more despair.

something had gone wrong. you two were not meant for each other, you were never meant to be.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

#—stellaronhvnters.#x reader #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr blade #blade x reader #hsr ruan mei #ruan mei x reader #hsr argenti #argenti x reader #hsr feixiao #feixiao x reader #hsr sunday #sunday x reader

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mr-ys-phantasma · 18 days ago

Text

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1683

Chapter 36:

Lilia placed the card in the middle, at the space of the Traveler; the card representing her in this passage. "Impathetic, intuitive, inner voice to be trusted."

"Yes, you're a mensch, Lilia" Agatha commented, observing the sword filled ceiling that was still coming down; alas at a slower pace than before but it did not seem it would stop anytime soon. "

But let's say we place a card."

"No sword." You commented next, realizing that at least nothing was flying towards you; which never expected to count it as a relief in your prolonged life.

"If she got the card right, why doesn't the ceiling stop?" Jen questioned, her worry growing the closer the ceiling was coming down; the closer those swords were to her and the rest of you.

Lilia pulled the next card. "Three of Pentacles. Collaboration, Community, I needed you... my coven, " Immediately, she got a flash of the list she wrote for Agatha.

The names she had listed as the coven members Agatha needed.

Lilia Calderu

Jennifer Kale

Agatha Harkness

Alice Wu...

A black heart...

And no other name...

As she focused on the present, she came to realize that your name was never on the list. Before she could question it, before she could try to figure it out; her hand went for the next card.

"The Path Behind... The Knight of Wands. Full of fire. Fights bravely." She announced loudly as she placed the card down, getting momentarily flash of Alice's sacrifice in saving Agatha from the vengeful spirit of her evil mother.

Billy, the taller of the group and also the one with those huge black horns on his head; was the first who had to bend and try to avoid his impalement.

"We're running out of time." He exclaimed.

Lilia pulled the next card. "The Path Ahead...High Priestess. Immense spiritual power, unable or unwilling to use it." As she placed the card at its respective place on the spread, she got flames of her first meeting with Jen; the background of a banner the same as her card.

"Don't stop, Lilia!" Jen, the main subject of this momentarily memory, encouraged the older witch; with whom she had surprisingly bonded during their little time in the tunnels.

"Obstacles..." Lilia pulled the next card, but as she did, an extra card left the deck and slowly levitated towards the floor. She noticed, but her mind quickly focused on the card in her hands. "Three of Swords. Heartbreak, sorrow, grief." She remembered the moment Teen almost died; a devastated Agatha holding his head; three branches behind her crossing her the same way they crossed the card.

"Agatha!" You called and pulled her lower, forcing her to bend since, for a moment, had forgotten she had thay ridiculous pointy hat on top of her head.

Lilia heard the cries of worry but remained focused, close in finishing the spread. "The Windfall...Tower reversed. Disaster, destruction, sudden upheaval, but reversed, it means miraculous transformation." A quick flash of the Barmichva of Willliam and the shot of the tower reversed in her glass sphere. And with shaky hands, she pulled the last card. "And finally, the Destination..."

The sight of the card, so familiar and yet so haunting, made her gasp. She remembered the tunnels, the Ouija Board spelling a certain word... she remembered the summoning, she remembered the day she found her own maestro's body... and the figure standing behind it.

And she remembered the ways a certain Green Witch looked at you... the familiarity that seemed to exist... and the polarity represented.

"....death..." Lilia exclaimed and managed to place the card down, stopping the sword inches from harming her and her coven.

With the spread done, the ceiling started to go up again, and you could not help but chuckle faintly in relief; your hand holding Agatha's tightly for a moment longer.

"Lilia, you did it. You saved us." Jen exclaimed, almost feeling the need to hide the coocky old witch with troublesome powers.

However, it was you who had noticed that look on her face; one of shock and slight fear.

"What happened?" You asked, feeling she saw something that startled her enough and most likely concerned all of you as a group.

"Rio... she's Death." Lilia explained, still trying to process everything.

"She's what?" Jen questioned, ensuring she had heard right the first time.

"The original Green Witch."

You pressed your lips to form a thin line as the cat got out of the bag. Though in your and Rio's defence, no one ever denied that Rio was not death.

Simply, no one asked or made the connection; utill now that was.

"Is it true?" Billy asked next as everyone looked at Agatha.

"What can I say? I like the bad boys." She answered them without a moment of hesitation or shame, clearly not minding that she was romantically evolved with the Grimm Reaper.

At her words, you could not help but clear your throat and even pull your hand away from hers; clearly not liking her answer.

It was your turn to feel jealous, and you did not hide it from her or anyone. You had been very patient and understanding, but you were not going to stand around and be insulted like that.

You were before Rio. You were before anyone else...

Agatha frowned at your move, clearly not liking your response. However, she saw the way you crossed your arms halfway, fingers too close and pointing at your shoulder. She saw the look you were giving her; she could not help but roll her eyes at the unnecessary drama.

Honestly, you and Rio had that so much in common. It was becoming both tiresome and slightly worrisome.

"Fine, fine," she exclaimed. "I ike the bad boys and white witches with questionable parenthood backgrounds"

You parted our lips at her answer, clearly not approving of how openly she called you out. It definitely did not help as you could feel Jen's intense gaze on you, holding more suspicion than ever before.

Was this woman ever going to at least stop suspecting you would murder her in her sleep?

Before the topic could be changed to you and what Agatha said; Billy noticed something on the floor close to the table.

"Hey, Lilia; you missed a card," he pointed out and picked it up.

Lilia was reminded how that card was pulled along with the Three of Swords but had fallen to the side. Usually, in tarot, a card falling during shuffling was chosen, but during a spread... it depended.

She took the card from him and slowly lifted it up to her gaze, obscuring you from her vision from it.

"Two of swords..." Lilia recognised the upright card. "Stalemate, divided loyalty, caught in the middle... balance, equally matched..." she lowered the card slowly.

Exactly parallel to the figurine, you stood, and that act seemed to trigger one last memory flash to divination witch.

She remembered the meeting at Agatha's House, how you had your hands folded in a similar way as the crescent moon of a tapestry was in your background.

And here you stood now, in the exact same position. Your hands crossed, your clothes purely white, and that fancy headpiece threatening to fall forward and cover your eyes.

Lilia blinked as she recalled your name not existing on the list and your peculiar connection to both Rio and Agatha.

"Does this mean something? Flying off?" Billy asked.

Lilia kept staring at you in a way that made you feel as if she was looking through you; unfolding all of your locked secrets.

"It's a card that does and does not belong in the spread," she explained, finally adverting her gaze towards the boy. "It does and does not belong in the Obstacles, an unstable presence that can or can not affect the passage of the traveller"

"Helpful," Jen commented.

Suddenly, the grimm and spooky talk was interested by the familiar hissing sound that only Salem Seven could produce.

"We have to go, now!" You exclaimed, earning nods and huma from the others.

"Into the Iron Maiden, quickly!" Lilia instructed, only now making you realize that there were steps and a secret passage behind the now open iron Maiden.

One by one, Lilia ensured her coven went through.

First, if was Billy, and she gave him his little spellbook; which she had found in the tunnels.

Then it was Agatha, who seemed to understand why Lilia was waiting for them to enter. Yet despite everything, Lilia had one last piece of advice left; one that confused Agatha at that moment but would soon be the one thing saving her life.

You were third, Jen even pushing you to go ahead of her; something that surprised you. Jen had always been the first to leave, putting herself first and above all the others.

As you were about to enter, Lilia grabbed your hand; fingers wrapping tightly around the wrist with the moon brithmark.

"Stop holding back." she looked you dead in the eyes. "Face your fear."

Last was Jen, who got some wise words from Lilia as well; making her feel hopeful that her ending in this road would be better than her past the last 100 years.

Just like that, just like the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz; Lilia played her part.

She gave the scarecrow the brains. She gave Dorothy advice to help finish. To the Lion, she reminded it of the bravery it always looked for... and for the tinman; she restored the missing heart.

A soft smile played on her lips, hands holding the two doors of the Iron Maiden. She looked at her coven, eyes getting misty with tears. "I loved being a witch."

And with those words, she closed the doors and locked them; leaving herself into the room, ready to face the Salem Seven and end them.

Ready to truly save her coven this time. Even at the cost of her own life. She was ready.

As the Ballad said...

I hold Death's hand in mine

Chapter 37

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha spoilers #agatha fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #marvel #moon phases fanfic #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #lilia calderu

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loves-77 · 2 months ago

Text

You Are My Honey

*TW* Yandere, obsessive tones, mates, Bear hybrid, NOT PROOFREAD (Tell me if you notice anymore)

THIS IS MY FIRST STORY I HAVE EVER WRITTEN SO IGNORE ANY MISTAKES, I AM STILL TRYING TO FIND MY PERFERED WRITING STYLE!

TELL ME IF YOU WANT A SMUT PART 2!!

*One part of my story is inspired by a scene in another story I read, don't remember the author*

*Not My Picture*

What had the world become? You sit alone on your couch in a small little apartment you could barely afford, for what? To get up in the morning go to your job at the floral shop and make a couple bucks a day?? All alone because you don't have time to invest in a romance that would probably end after a month, because who would want to be with a 'workaholic' who only has time to stay at their job. All your friends got some husband or boyfriend or...... mate.

The subject of 'mates' confused you, hybrids are just now being accepted into society and now are 'mating' on people. With how many hybrids are finding their mates the government is passing a law allowing them to be with said mates. The thought scared you, maybe because you didn't know enough about it. Imagine going about your normal day and some random person, with ears or a tail, starts talking about how you are destined to be together. Scary, or romantic??

Finally getting out of your daydreaming you look at the clock and realize you are gonna be late for work if you don't leave this second. Running out the door, almost forgetting your bag, you rush downstairs and run down the street. You lived pretty close to the floral shop so it was easy for you to get there fast. Barley making it on time your boss gives you a long list of orders you have to prepare. Your day has officially started..

*Time skip*

After work you make it back to the apartment, dropping your keys in your tray and making a bee line to the couch. Your phone rings and you realize your best friend was asking if you were free. Once you text them you are you start getting ready. They didn't give you a lot of details but told you to dress casual.

They text you to meet them outside your apartment in 30 min and they were gonna pick you up. Getting ready you finally make it down the stairs and wait outside for her. Seeing her car pull up and her getting out you both greet each other. "You are gonna love it" she said, "I got invited to some party on the nice side of town, supposedly there is going to be a lot of nice, respectable men there!!!" Winking at you she started the car and started driving. "You know I am not looking for anyone right now, no one is gonna wanna be with me when I can barely go out. I mean I got lucky today and my boss let me off early!" "You might find someone who doesn't mind.... Or someone who makes some money, so you don't have to work as much." Both of you start laughing.

Finally making it to the house you guys pull into the drive way and a bunch of people walking around, inside and outside. "Is the house made of just glass" you question. "I guess it is the new thing with rich people, let everyone see your business" You both get out of the car, after parking it, and walk toward the entrance. Suddenly the both of you tense, realizing there weren't just humans at this party. Now you both don't have a problem with hybrids going into public places or having the same rights you have, but never being near one before and seeing their sharp teeth or ears freaked you both out.

You were the first one to relax a little, realizing they were just there to have fun, like everyone else. "I didn't know they were gonna be here sorry" your friend apologized. "It's OK, they are here just like us, no problems." You both walk in together and browse around to see who and what exactly was here.

A loud booming voice can be heard across the room. Everyone's heads turn towards the owner of the voice. You freeze in fear, or maybe just shock, you aren't quite sure. But you know for sure that the owner of that voice is not someone you want to cross paths with ever again.

He was ginormous with arms that could pick you up and throw you a mile away.... maybe even more than that. His shaggy honey brown hair draped around his face almost majestically. He smiled and you noticed his canines are pointier that anyone you have ever seen before.... wait, wait, wait. You could hit yourself for not noticing the round brown ears on the top of his head. That is why he is so much bigger than everyone in the room.... he is a grizzly bear hybrid.

You look to your friend in panic and notice she had the same look on her face. Grizzly bear hybrids are rare and tend to be more aggressive than other predator hybrids. You have never seen one before in person, you considered yourself lucky until now.

Finally zoning back in from your panic you realize that some non-hybrids share the same look as you and your friend do. Looking back over to the owner of the voice you catch his stare. Freezing up once again you can't look away from those... black eyes? or maybe they are a dark brown, you can't tell from the distance. Snapping out of your shock you realize he stops to... sniff.... no he can't be sniffing the air... can he?

Then realization hits you when he starts heading your way. You heard that hybrids could smell who their mate is, but it couldn't be. You can't possibly be his mate. Panic sets in again and you couldn't tell if you were overreacting, it couldn't be you he was heading towards. But still, you grab your friend's arm and bolt away before he could get close enough to start a conversation.

"What- Where are we going??" Your friend asks "We need to leave right no-" "WAIT, YOU IN THE (F/C) SHIRT!!" You could have sworn the ground shook with how loud his voice was. You don't freeze, now that you know for sure he was looking for you. "Is that-" You cut your friend off "We need to leave." She doesn't hesitate to grab her car keys from her pocket and catch up with your fast steps.

Looking behind you see the hybrid trying to make his way through the crowd. "WAIT, WAIT!!" He sounded so desperate, you almost felt bad if you still didn't feel the pit in your stomach. Looking ahead of you again, you both make it to the front door, storming out of the house and to the car. While your friend was starting it you both hear the front door slam open, turning your head to the side you see the hybrid rushing out. Your friend gets the car started and hits the gas to go forward. Looking back, you see him chasing the car with.... were those tears in his eyes? No, it couldn't be, he didn't even know you. Finally relaxing in your chair, you lay back and look at your friend and say, "I don't think I am going to go to a party with you for a while." Making eye contact you both start giggling. "I understand completely" she says in between her giggling.

*Time Skip*

You wake up with a raging headache, barley remembering what happened yesterday you groan and sit up. Then you pause as you remember who you saw and ran away from yesterday. A chill goes down your spine and you remember his smile with those pointed teeth. But you snap yourself out of it and say, "He didn't do anything wrong; I shouldn't be scared for no reason." But you can't shake the feeling of fear you felt when you saw him.

Getting out of bed you get ready for work, which you are supposed to be there in an hour. Changing into a cute shirt and jeans you make yourself your (Favorite breakfast). Once you finish your food, you grab your keys and head for the door. Getting in your car you start heading over to the floral shop. Entering the store was a whole dream, all the beautiful flowers and the addicting smells you can't help but smile. Making it to the back your boss greets you and gives you the orders to start the day.

A couple hours later you hear the door open and close, looking up to greet the customer you freeze. "Welc-...." Standing before you was the (at least 6'3) huge hybrid from yesterday. "I have been looking all over for you! Since you left so abruptly yesterday, I tracked down your scent and found you here! I was going to go to your apartment, but I thought that might have been too far." The smile on his face not disappearing, even after you didn't respond and just stared at him.

"You found me by my..... scent??" The sheer surprise you had confused him, his eyebrows furrowing. "Well of course honey, how else would I find you?" ..... Honey?!?!? Why is he calling you that?? Shaking the shock off you respond "Excuse me? I don't know you sir and I don't appreciate being called honey." If it could even be possible his eyebrows furrowed even more, before it looked like he realized something. "Oh dear! I forgot to introduce myself!! My names is Caleb, and I realize this might seem weird for you but... how do I word this.... well you are my mate!" The smile on his face grew 10 times when he said 'mate'

Chills rushed down your spine, and not the good kind. "Did you just say mates? No that can't be, I am sorry, but you have the wrong person." You almost felt bad as his face dropped, but you reminded yourself he basically stalked you to work! "But -" You cut him off, "I am really sorry and I wish you the best of luck finding who you are looking for." Tears started welling in his eyes.

"(Y/N)!" Turning around you see your boss, "Yes, sir?" "Come here right now!" Looking back at Caleb you quickly turn and rush to the backroom. "Wha-" You were cut off, "You need to leave, and take the b-bear with you!" "What si-" "LEAVE! You are gonna make business go down, so take him with you!" "Bu-" You were being shoved out of the room towards a very hopeful looking bear.

"You kids have fun!" Turning around the store door was closed in your face. Turning around to look at Caleb, you turn and start walking towards your car, keeping silent. "Wait!" Your arm was yanked backwards. "LET GO!" "No." He growled with a snarl on his face. "You are going to come with me so we can talk. Don't argue because you aren't going anywhere." Shutting your mouth, you start to walk with him, not wanting to be on his bad side. But you can't stop the small tingle you feel in the spot he touched.

He led you to a black car, opened the door, and gently pushed you inside. Once he got in, he started the car and got on the road. "Where are we going?" you managed to get out in a calm voice. Smiling over at you he replied, "Home of course." You had the feeling that it wasn't your house he was talking about.

*Time Skip*

It seemed like you had been in his car for hours, but it was just 30 minutes. Glancing over at him he seemed very content with a light smile on his face. You realize this might be because he finally has what he has waited his whole life for, his mate. Thinking back, you feel bad you just ran away from him and didn't even give him a chance to talk. Looking at his face you think he is very handsome, and you are surprised you didn't notice before. His jawline sharp, light freckles dusting his face, his shapely nose, and he had longer lashes then you did. "I hope you are pleased with how I look." His deep voice scared you out of your daze. Quickly looking away from you stare at the road ahead of you. Out of the corner of your eye you see him look towards you and say "You are so beautiful. So much better than what I imagined my mate to look like." You felt your cheeks heat up as you take a quick glance at him, luckily, he was looking back at the road.

Now going through an internal debate, you realize you don't feel scared anymore. It was almost like your body was relaxing after being with him and not fighting it. Trying to fight off the feelings you can't help but look over at him and say "Why am I feeling like this?" He glanced at you before turning his eyes back on the road. Looking concerned he said "Feeling like what? Are you feeling ill?" Sighing you say "No I don't feel sick but why do I feel comfortable with you? You basically just kidnapped me." You see a small smile making its way on his face, "It is because we are mates, you don't feel it as intensely as I do, since I have better senses than a normal human. But we were destined to be together it's only natural your body is reacting to my pheromones while your brain might be denying it." He suddenly reached a hand over and grabbed your hand. Tingles exploded everywhere just from that touch. You didn't move your hand away, even though you probably should have. Staring at your intertwined hands you couldn't help it, it just felt.... right.

Not even paying attention to the time anymore it takes you a quick second to realize the car stopped. Looking up you make eye contact with Caled. The smile on his face was so sweet you practically felt yourself melting, those dang pheromones. He turned and got out of the car, gently dropping your hand. You can't help but want to hold his hand again, even after everything. He opened the door for you, gently taking your hand again as you got out. As he went to pull his hand back you held on, refusing to let you go. You could see a big smile formed on his face as he looked at your hands.

Looking up you realize how far you must be from the city; you look at the beautiful cabin house, the log details, and the wrap around porch. The forest surrounding you was just as beautiful. Looking to the side of the house there is a small gravel pathway leading into the forest.

"Welcome to my home, well I guess it's ours now."

Looking at him, the sentence and you lightly pull your hand away from his. There is no way you are going to move in with him after just meeting him.... mates or not. A big frown formed on his face when you pulled away and hurt flashed in his eyes.

"I am not moving in with you. We just met! I don't appreciate being pushed into things. I know nothing about you, and you don't know anything about me."

Stepping back from him just a little. You see a change in his eyes, anger, or frustration? You are not completely sure.

Completely ignoring what you said before he continues on.

"My grandparents built this cabin when hybrids were still outcasts. Then it passed to my parents and now me. My parents built their own house further into the forest and decided I could have this house for my mate when I found her. No one knows about it."

Something flashed in his eyes when he said the last sentence. A chill ran down your spine and not a good one. You didn't like the implication of that at all. Your instincts were screaming to run and you couldn't fight your instincts. Not even giving your brain a chance to think, you bolted.

Running straight into the forest you curse yourself for not wearing running shoes to work today. You heard Caleb behind you shouting something, he sounded desperate and wounded. He sounded far enough away you know you surprised him by running. But you knew he would catch up to you eventually and you could hit yourself for not thinking about it before just bolting. There was a pain that you felt in your chest, but your adrenaline stopped the pain. You jumped over rocks and logs not wanting to slow down or trip. You could hear behind you Caleb was gaining on you and fast. Your legs burning you suddenly change routes. You hear a loud curse behind you and knew you shook him off your tail for just a second. That small victory didn't last long as the back of your shirt was yanked. Your back hitting a soft but solid chest.

You were absolutely winded while it seemed like he didn't even break a sweat. Looking at his face you shrink into yourself seeing a furious look. He had a snarl on his face and his eyebrows were furrowed together. You can't help but whimper slightly and you see sadness flash in his eyes just for a second before going back to anger.

"Where do you think you are going." He growled and you couldn't help but flinch at his tone.

"I was being nice and showing you my home, the one you are going to live in with me. I was going be nice and give you a week to stay at your house before moving in but after that stunt you pulled aren't ever going back."

"I'm sorry!" you practically cry out, shaking with fear. Turning around and grappling onto him, crying into his chest.

You couldn't explain it but the moment you ran it felt like your heart got torn out. But now, next to Caleb, the pain stopped.

"Why do I feel like this?!?!" Tears streaming down your face.

"Why do I want to be next to you so bad? Why did it hurt when I ran away!?"

You feel his muscular arms wrap around you and start rubbing your back. He started cooing and telling you it was ok, and he would explain later. His anger completely dissolving as he realized you felt the same pain he felt when you ran. Like someone just stabbed his heart out. Feeling yourself get picked up, you wrap your legs around his waist, stuffing your face in his neck, and wrapping your arms around the back of his head. You felt yourself calm almost instantly after putting your head in his neck. But the tears didn't stop even if you felt better.

"Let's get you back home, then we can clean up and eat something." He spoke so softly you almost wouldn't believe the anger he held in his voice not even 10 minutes ago.

Relaxing into his body you think to yourself, maybe it wouldn't be to bad if you just stayed with him.

#yandere x reader #bear hybrid x reader #bear x reader #hybrid x reader #hybrid au #x reader #yandere x darling #soft yandere #male yandere

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poisonlove · 4 months ago

Note

so I have a request! Jenna x fem.reader, these two are long time best friends, reader knows that she is in love with jenna and for a distraction she start to date e boy. jenna are really jealous and then I need angst, drama but a happy ending mit fluff!

FRIENDS

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X Fem!reader

Status: request

Warning: fluff

Jenna and I had been friends forever.

A friendship that seemed destined to last forever, full of laughter, adventures, and confidences. We knew everything about each other and complemented each other in ways that no one else could understand.

But lately, the way I looked at Jenna had changed.

I noticed that my heart raced faster when she laughed at my jokes, and my stomach filled with butterflies every time our eyes met. My feelings for her had become deeper, more complex, more romantic.

However, I had never found the courage to tell her.

The fear of ruining our friendship, of losing her, held me back every time I tried to speak.

My distraction began when I started dating Luca.

He was kind, caring, and made me feel special.

But he wasn't Jenna.

He could never be.

Despite Luca being a great guy, I often found myself thinking about how it would be if Jenna were holding my hand, smiling at me from across the table.

His laughter didn’t have the same effect, and his hugs didn’t bring the same comfort. Every date with Luca made me wish Jenna were in his place.

Jenna, on the other hand, seemed more and more distant, and it hurt.

And I especially didn't understand why.

At first, I thought it was just a period of stress or fatigue from work on the set, but over time, I noticed she avoided our meetings, found excuses not to go out with me, and, when she did, she was always distracted, lost in her thoughts.

I tried to talk to her, to understand what was happening, but she would smile and change the subject, reassuring me that everything was fine.

But I knew it wasn’t true.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, trying to ease the fatigue. It was midnight and I had to finish a report I had neglected all week.

The papers scattered on the desk and the computer full of data reminded me that I had to get it done. As I tried to focus, my phone suddenly rang, interrupting the silence.I looked up from the screen, surprised by the late-night call.

With a distracted movement, I picked up the phone and saw that it was Emma calling me.

“Hey, Emma?” I answered, trying to hide my exhaustion. “Do you need something?”

The background music was so loud that I had difficulty hearing Emma’s voice.

“You need to come here,” she murmured, worried. “Jenna is beside herself. She’s drunk too much and I’m afraid she might go into alcohol poisoning.”

My heart began to race.

“Where are you?” I asked, searching for my car keys on the desk.

“At George’s house,” Emma replied, distressed.

“I’ll see you there in five minutes,” I said, ending the call.

I arrived at George's house and the party was in full swing.

The deafening music, pumped out by a DJ in the corner of the living room, made the walls and floor vibrate. The crowd was dense and animated, boys and girls dancing closely together, lost in the powerful bass and captivating melodies. The air was thick with the pungent smell of smoke and the sweet aroma of alcohol, with clouds of vapor mixing above the heads of the attendees.

In the middle of the room, a beer pong table was surrounded by excited spectators who cheered and encouraged the players, laughter and shouts filling the air. On a sofa, a group of friends was engaged in animated conversations, while some exchanged passionate kisses in various corners of the room.

My attention was focused on finding Emma.

I caught sight of her near the kitchen, with a look of frustration and worry on her face. I made my way through the crowd, gently pushing to clear a path, until I reached her.

"You're finally here!" Emma exclaimed over the noise, pulling me towards her.

"Jenna won't listen to anyone."

"Where is she?" I asked, scanning the direction Emma indicated.

"In the kitchen," Emma said, grabbing my wrist and leading me through the chaos.

The kitchen was somewhat quieter than the rest of the house, though the music was still audible in the background. I saw Jenna sitting on a table, with a half-empty bottle of vodka next to her. Her head was resting on her arm, and her face clearly showed the signs of a night of excess.

"Jenna," I said, kneeling beside her.

"What are you doing?"

Jenna slowly lifted her gaze, her eyes hazy and confused.

She looked at me with a silly smile before recognizing me. "Is it you?" she slurred, reaching out a hand towards me.I felt myself blush under her touch but tried to remain calm.

"Yes, I came to get you," I said in a steady voice, even though my heart was pounding.

Jenna's smile quickly faded, and she tried to get up from the table, swaying.

"Why aren't you with Luca? He's perfect, right?" she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

I bit my lower lip, trying to stay calm.

"Jenna, don't do this."

She grabbed the vodka bottle angrily. "I don't care," she muttered. "Leave me alone."

I grabbed the bottle, taking it from her hands.

"Enough, Jenna. You can't keep going like this."

She stared at me, her anger turning into pain. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice trembling.

I looked into her eyes, trying to convey all my sincerity.

"Because I can't stand to see you like this."

Jenna stared at me for a long moment, then she let herself lean against me. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her arms wrapped around my waist.

I turned to Emma, seeking a solution. "Can we go upstairs?" I asked, hoping for a bit more privacy and calm.

Emma nodded quickly. "Sure, let's use the guest room. Follow me."

With difficulty, I supported Jenna as Emma led us up the stairs.

Each step was hard, Jenna swaying and struggling to maintain her balance. The noise of the party seemed to fade as we moved away from the chaos of the ground floor.

Finally, we reached the guest room.

It was a small, quiet room with soft lighting and a neatly made bed.

I gently laid Jenna down on the bed, trying to be as gentle as possible while she complained about her discomfort.

"Sss, it's going to be okay," I whispered, gently stroking her hair.

Jenna looked at me with glassy eyes, her iris almost completely obscured by her dilated pupils. Even though her gaze was clouded by alcohol, there was a depth of emotion that I couldn't ignore. I realized I was studying her features, captivated by a beauty that, even in that state, shone brightly. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her disheveled hair falling in disarray over her delicate features, and her full, plump lips seemed almost inviting.

Without meaning to, my gaze fell on her lips. I felt a sudden wave of warmth that made my cheeks flush and my heartbeat quicken. I tried to look away, the embarrassment growing inside me, but every time I attempted to shift my focus, I inevitably found myself drawn back to her.

"I'll get you an aspirin," I said awkwardly, trying to move away to regain control of my emotions.

But before I could get up from the bed, Jenna grabbed my hand, holding it tightly.

"No, don't go," she murmured, her eyes filled with an intensity I had never seen before."Jenna, you need to rest," I said softly, but she shook her head, gripping my hand even more tightly.

"I have to tell you something," she insisted, her voice slurred by alcohol but full of determination. "I... I love you, Y/N. I've always loved you. It hurts to see you with someone else."

My heart ached at her words, but the fact that she was so drunk made me doubt her sincerity.

"Jenna, you're drunk. You don’t know what you're saying."

Anger flashed in her eyes, and in an instant, Jenna grabbed the collar of my shirt, pulling me towards her.

"Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what I’m saying," she hissed, her gaze burning with emotion. "I love you, Y/N/N. And I hate seeing you with Luca."

I was taken aback by the sudden clarity in her voice and the sharpness of her gaze, which starkly contrasted with her drunken state. There was no slurring or confusion; her words were firm and incisive, and the way she looked at me seemed laden with a truth I couldn't ignore.

My heart raced, and the intensity of her words caught me off guard.

I tried to respond, but the words seemed stuck in my throat, unable to find an appropriate answer to her confession. The atmosphere between us grew charged, while Jenna continued to look at me with unwavering, determined eyes.

She looked at me with fury and then, without warning, kissed me forcefully.

The kiss tasted of alcohol, a mix of vodka and desperation, and for a moment, I let myself be overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions.

Her lips were warm and insistently pressed against mine.

Jenna started to increase the intensity, her hands trying to remove my shirt. I looked at her with wide eyes, my heart racing.

"Jenna, wait..." I tried to say, but her hands, feverish and impatient, didn’t stop.

Her determination and the heat of her touch made me uneasy.

I could feel my heart pounding, and my body wasn’t sure whether to reject her advance.

"I don’t know if I should..." I said, my voice trembling. "This isn’t the right time."

Jenna looked at me with intensity, the pain and passion in her eyes palpable.

"Don’t you understand how much I’ve thought about you?" she whispered, her voice laden with desperation. "I can’t bear to see you with someone else. You’re everything to me, Y/N."

Her glassy and penetrating gaze fixed on me with an unexpected clarity, as if every word was a fragment of raw truth that I couldn’t ignore. Her words intertwined with the depth of her look, creating a palpable tension that filled the air around us.

Despite the intensity of the moment, I still felt unsure.

"Jenna, I don’t know if I can do this..." I said, my voice trembling.

Confusion and uncertainty overwhelmed me, and the fear of making a mistake held me back.Sensing my conflict, Jenna moved closer slowly, her expression growing softer and more pleading.

"Please," she whispered, her hands still trembling as they caressed my face. "I don’t want to lose you. I only want you, Y/N."

The warmth of her hand on my skin and the sincerity in her voice began to melt my reservations. Her eyes, though clouded by alcohol, were filled with a truth I couldn’t ignore. I felt my heart quicken, my mind wrestling between reason and desire.

After a moment of hesitation, I moved closer to Jenna, my breath shortening as I tried to navigate between the confusion and the attraction I felt. The decision to give in to the moment became inevitable, and with my heart pounding, I moved towards her, preparing to confront the truth of my feelings.

Our lips touched initially with tenderness, as if it were a timid and uncertain exploration. But soon, the contact grew more intense, her lips pressing against mine with a gentle yet determined pressure, as if trying to convey everything she couldn’t express in words.

My hands move quickly, grabbing the edges of her dress and pulling it off with a decisive gesture. Jenna giggles, surprised and amused by my sudden gesture.

“So desperate,” she says, with a mischievous tone and a playful look, as I reach for her neck, kissing it fervently.

"But listen, five minutes ago you were begging me and now you're acting innocent?" I murmur shyly against her skin, Jenna's laughter soon replaced by moans of pleasure.

Jenna's hand moves closer to my neck, pulling me further towards her, increasing the intensity of the contact.

I stop kissing her neck and pull away slightly, looking at Jenna with sudden apprehension.

“You're sure, right?” I ask, my embarrassment evident.

Jenna smiles at me with an expression full of confidence and desire. “I've never been more confident,” she replies, her smile bright.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna marie ortega #alcohol #drunk #lgbtq #lesbian kissing

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catlvrmax · 5 months ago

Text

RACE DAY & NIGHTCLUBS.

MV1 X FEM!READER

summary it's race day! you and amara decide to spend your sunday night out in the city. you make new friends in the process.

cw ONE use of [Y/N] - it was inevitable. idk the deets of how f1 works exactly, but i tried. this is a work of fiction: i don't know these people irl, i don't know how they act. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

face claims girls on pinterest, but you can obviously disregard them, and imagine whoever you want. (the pictures are for aesthetic purposes.)

a/n i feel like the alonso scene is kinda useless but idk i put it in ite.

masterlist | taglist

—

"I'm so excited!" Amara squealed as you grabbed her wrist to keep her close.

Today is race day. You woke up early, buzzing with anticipation. Amara tried to (poorly) contain her excitement and constant giggles until you had at least one cup of coffee in your system but failed ten minutes into breakfast. You don't blame her—she loves the sport.

She also loves the drivers. Loves the gossip and the drama on and off track. A new thing she has picked up, one you really want to put a stop to, is teasing you about a certain Dutchman. It was already bad enough that your conversation kept replaying in your head, and her playful teasing increased the thoughts of the two-time world champion.

You tolerated it on the walk to the circuit, rolling your eyes at her dreamy sighs and romantic scenarios, which she mostly made up to annoy you but changed the subject as you approached your destination. You refused to look or sound like a crazy fangirl in case... well, in case of actually running into him.

Arriving at the circuit and checking in the paddock had been a nightmare. You and Amara were not huge fans of crowded places you more than her, and the heat of the sun beating down on you made it ten times worse. Alas, you finally found yourselves away from the masses and around the corner of the Aston Martin hospitality building.

Amara was not paying attention to where she was going, and you were listening intently to the plans for the day. At the last minute, you saw a green shirt from the corner of your eye. You pulled on her wrist, and she stumbled towards you, but not before softly colliding with the side of the tall man in the green shirt.

"Oh, shit. ¡Lo siento, señor!" The apology comes in Spanish. (I am sorry, sir!)

"Esta bien, señorita? I was not looking in my path." You try to catch your jaw from falling to the ground when you eye the Green Shirt Guy. (Are you okay, miss?)

That's Fernando fucking Alonso. Fernando Alonso, the man you may or may not have a tiny crush on, is helping Amara stand up after she bent over to grab her discarded water bottle.

"Ah, si. Lo siento, señor Alonso. Estaba mostrando a mi amiga alrededor—"

"It's you from yesterday, no?! The girl with the great, uh, Spanish skills!" He talks to her as if they've known each other for years.

You stand there stunned, trying to compose yourself as your F1 crush stands before you, casually conversing with your best friend. Amara must be ready to explode right about now. You would laugh if you weren't fighting the urge to scream and run around from the joy.

You hear your name fall from Amara's lips, and your gaze focuses back on them. "That's my best friend. I gave her the hat!"

Fernando nods, his gaze on you as a polite smile causes his dimples to appear. You show him the signed Aston Martin cap by tilting your head.

"Amara said you are a big fan. I appreciate it. Do you want to take a photograph?"

"Uh-Yeah! Yeah, I'd love to!" You take your phone out. Oh-em-gee. Oh-em-gee. Is this really happening? "It's nice to meet you, sir!" You can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

Fernando, being taller than you, asks for your phone. He raises it above your head and takes a couple of selfies. You muster the brightest smile, copying his funny faces and poses. When he hands it back, thank yous stumble from your lips faster than any car on the grid.

"Mucha suerte para ti hoy!" (Best of luck to you today!)

Fernando laughs but bows his head in appreciation. "Muchas gracias, querida." He turns to Amara, who's watching you both with a smile. "Enjoy the race, girls!"

And with that, he's walking away. You and Amara stand still for a few seconds, watching him disappear around the corner. You lock eyes, jaws on the floor. Squeals escape the both of you as you grab each other for support.

"Oh, my fucking God! We just—I—You—"

"I talked to Fernando fucking Alonso, and you took a photo with him. Shit!" Her tone betrays her disbelief.

"Oh, pinch me, 'mara, because this can't possibly be fucking real!" You cup your red cheek with one palm. "He remembered you. That's crazy!"

Amara giggles. "We talked in Spanish yesterday, and he told me he was impressed by my fluency!"

You smack her arm, suppressing a smile. "What? Why didn't you tell me all of that!? From past experiences, your Spanish has been shit."

She gasps dramatically, feigning offence. "How dare you, missy?! My Spanish is almost perfect. I just happened to get nervous around native speakers!"

You laugh and raise your hands in surrender, muttering my bad. Amara links her elbow with yours. "Are you ready to watch twenty cars go in weird-shaped circles?"

"Yup," you answer, popping the p before pulling her towards the building you will be watching from. "He is hotter in person." You cannot help but add.

Amara rolls her eyes but hums in agreement.

—

"Max Verstappen wins the Spanish Grand Prix! Another flawless performance by the current World Champion!"

You can't help but smile as the camera cuts to his team celebrating. Amara claps in delight, gathering her scattered things from the table to put inside her bag. The VIP room you watched the race from is slowly emptying as everyone walks down to where the celebration will take place. Amara wants to go and get as close as she can to the front, so she can take pictures of the podium. Lewis Hamilton came second, followed by George Russell, and your best friend was beaming and eager to see the podium from up close.

"You don't have to come with me. It's pretty tight there, with the crew, and fans, and stuff." You nod, thankful to her for not forcing you to tag along. "You can wait by the Red Bull hospitality. I think it's closer to the exit." She pauses as you stand from your seat. "And who knows. Maybe a Dutchman will pass by, and you deliver on your plan."

You huff at her wiggling eyebrows. "Seems kind of impossible since Max is celebrating on the podium, 'mara. You have a better chance at meeting him." You snort at her deflated expression.

"Oh, yeah, you're right." She shrugs. "Well, who knows? You might bump into each other again."

"I highly doubt that. Now, give me everything you don't need. I'll put it in my bag. I don't want you losing anything in that crowd."

Amara hands you her handbag and kisses you on the cheek before walking away. You're the only guest in the room now, accompanied by the bartender on the other side of the room. You contemplate staying here or leaving for the Red Bull hospitality. The track fills with fans, as is the ground below the podium. Lewis and George are already there, which means that—

"Here's Max Verstappen, the winner of this year's Spanish Grand Prix." Crofty, the commentator, announces the champion's arrival at the podium's top step.

He looks handsome, with a smile decorating his face and high cheekbones glistening with sweat. He waves at the crowd and takes his Pirelli hat off. His hair is messy, but it just makes him look hotter. Wow. You need to stop, or you'll salivate all over the bloody floor. You turn away from the TV as the Dutch national anthem starts playing.

One thought keeps repeating as you walk out of the building and to the sunny paddock. Max Verstappen is undoubtedly handsome.

—

You're aimlessly pacing in front of the Red Bull building, skipping through the pictures you'd taken. Most of them were of Amara posing in front of different buildings, eating or walking. You don't notice a chest heading your way until it's too late, and you collide. Ouch, you mumble as you rub your forehead.

"We should stop meeting like this." You recognise the voice immediately. How could you not? The man has been plaguing your thoughts.

Your heart is racing. You don't meet Max's eyes at first, hoping that a simple apology will make him walk away. "Oh, sorry. Wasn't paying attention."

"Are you lost again? Do you need help?" Max is quick to offer, but you shake your head negatively.

A hand comes forward, a featherlight touch on your elbow. You finally meet his gaze, rubbing on the spot that stings. What the fuck is he made of? Rock? His eyes hold concern as they rake over your face.

"What are you made of? Rock or something? That stung!" You offer a shy smile and a joke, for his worried expression makes your palms sweat.

He returns the smile. "Hey! You were the one not paying attention."

You shrug. "I was looking through the photos I've taken." You raise the old camera for him to see.

"Oh, yeah? Any cool ones?" He asks, stepping closer to you to see.

You notice a man behind the driver, wearing a Red Bull polo and an impatient expression. Anxiety sparks at your chest. He's got somewhere to be. Leave him alone. "Don't you have media duties to attend? You did just win a race." His smile turns guilty at your words.

"Yeah. I've got to change from this," he points at his racing suit," and attend interviews." He doesn't look too excited to do so.

"Well, then, I shouldn't be keeping you." You move a step back, nervously glancing at the other man.

Max does as well, the flush on his cheeks bolder than before. He opens his mouth, and you watch him have an internal war with himself before he decides to voice whatever thought he has. He motions to the man to go ahead without him. I'll be there in a minute, he mutters.

"I'd love to see those photographs."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you know you look like a fish as your mouth opens and closes. Your face heats up. "Uh—They're really nothing special. This is an old camera."

Max shrugs. "Why don't you give me your number? I can be the judge of that." Oh, shit. You nod.

He does an immaculate job of looking confident as if this isn't affecting him. A pretty girl agreed to give him his number. It's dangerous for a person with the number of young fans he has to give his phone number to a stranger, but he feels he can trust you. You haven't given him a reason to think you might be a crazy fangirl.

"D'you have a pen? I don't have my phone with me." You nod, rummaging through your handbag to find the emergency glittery pink pen.

Once you pull it out, Max can't help but comment on it. "Nice colour." You send him a playful glare.

He stretches his palm, and you softly pull his fingers closer. You scribble down your number, writing your first and last name underneath it. Max feels remorseful for not even having asked you your name. He knows that you no doubt know who he is now. He repeats it, and your breath hitches. He says it so perfectly, you might melt in a puddle. Caaaaaalm down. You sound insane. He's just stating your name.

"Pretty name," he thinks out loud. You don't believe you were meant to hear that, yet your face grows a shade darker.

Before you can say anything, the man shouts his name from the building's door. "Come on, mate! You're going to be late!" You can see the disappointment Max feels from his deflated smile.

"I have to go. Media duties." You chuckle when he rolls his eyes and nod. "I'll, uh, text you. For the pictures." He takes a step back, eyes locked with yours.

"For the pictures, yeah."

His face is flushed. You blame the race he just won. It's a poor excuse to give someone your number, no matter how famous they might be, yet you did. Amara will have a field day with this information. You half expect her to revive her old Tumblr account for the sake of acting on her scenarios.

"Bye." You wave, and he waves back, exchanging bashful smiles.

You watch his figure approach the man by the door when it hits you. "Oh, Max!" He turns quickly, eyes searching for yours. "Congratulations on your win!"

His eyes crinkle from the smile that he gives you. "Thank you!" He adds your name, and you don't deny it this time; Max Verstappen is extremely handsome, especially when he smiles.

—

MESSAGES: two. From > unknown number.

unknown number

hey, it's Max!

Verstappen. The guy in

the RB shirt.

you

hm... i don't know anyone

with this name. sorry!

max verstappen

Two-time world champion?

you

nope.

never met any world champions

in my life, sorry.

max verstappen

I helped you yesterday

and saw you today outside of

the RB hospitality.

This is [Y/N], right?

you

🤣 yes!

i'm just messing with you max!

max verstappen

*phew* had me thinking you

gave me the wrong number

you

*dramatic gasp*

i am NOT that cruel, mr verstappen!

btw, i havent transferred the photos yet!

camera's charging.

max verstappen

That's totally okay!

Soooo, what are you doing tonight?

you

contemplating whether i should share my

whereabouts with a random man....

max verstappen

HEY! you've met me!

two times already!!!

you

and how do i know this is the REAL

Max Verstappen????????

max verstappen

....you gave me your phone number.

you

oh, yeah. that makes sense.

i'm very sleep deprived haha

max verstappen

😂😂

you

Soooo, what are you doing tonight?

↪ to answer your previous question,

me and my bff are going clubbing

in Barcelona!

max verstappen

Oh, that sounds fun!

you

i'm secretly terrified of getting lost

in the city, but hey! i'm only here for another

night. might as well have fun

plus, i've heard Spaniards party hard!!!!!

max verstappen

plus, i've heard Spaniards party hard!!!!!

↪ THAT'S TRUE. Carlos is an

expert in all things nightclub when we're

here for the GP

you

you have any places to recommend?

amara is still looking on trip advisor

max verstappen

😨 TRIP ADVISOR?

you

WELL WE HAD TO START SOMEWHERE

max verstappen

the Vault is a really great place. Great

drinks and the DJ plays nice songs.

You should try that one!

you

i'm guessing it's expensive

as fuck

max verstappen

not as expensive as it is packed

BUT there's always the Disco Diva

and other clubs down that street

you

max verstappen, you know your

clubs, i see.

(the disco diva? really?)

max verstappen

you caught me ahahahahah

(the disco diva? really?)

↪ it plays really cool stuff

you

it plays really cool stuff

↪ i trust ur judgement.

so what are YOU, race winner, doing

tonight?

max verstappen

how do I know I'm not giving away

my location to a super crazy

fangirl?

you

you dont! YOU wanted MY number.

soooo.... 🤷🏻‍♀️

max verstappen

LOL. you're funny.

so what are YOU, race winner, doing

tonight?

↪ I was thinking of gaming, but the

boys want to party.

you

WELL, YAH! you totally deserve to let loose!

max verstappen

Hm, I might think about it.

Ha! Maybe we'll find each other in the club!

you

hahahahah it would be pretty embarrassing

if i ran into you again.

for the third time.

have fun with whatever you choose

to do, Maximus Verstappen.

max verstappen

that is definitely NOT my first name.

but i thank you, schat 😁

seen, now.

—

"Who are you talking to?" Amara asks, her eyes glued on TripAdvisor.

"H-Huh?" You barely register her words, fingers tapping on your screen incredibly fast.

"You've been giggling for, like, ten minutes now. I'm assuming it's not your mom. She's probably having lunch."

"Oh, you know. Just this guy I bumped into today. You might know him. His name's Max. Ma—"

"Fucking Verstappen?!" Amara all but yells, sitting up swiftly.

Your eyes meet her shocked expression, and you can't help the chuckle that escapes at her priceless reaction. You shrug in response, feigning nonchalance. Truth is, your best friend has hyped this guy up a lot, and your poor heart beats somewhat faster now that you're talking to him.

"You told me to get his number, didn't you?"

"W-Well—Yeah. But I didn't actually think you'd do it!"

You gasp as if offended. "You dare think so little of me? Think that I wouldn't honour my promise to feed your delusions?"

Amara laughs, lightly smacking your arm. "Okay, weirdo. Tell me what the fuck happened."

After pushing yourself to a sitting position, you tell her every detail of your second meeting with the world champion, including the texts. Amara's reactions are comical. At the end of your story-telling process, she's sitting there, with her jaw mere inches from touching the ground.

"So, do you think we'll meet him in that nightclub?"

You shrug. "I don't know. He said he'd think about it." You show her your phone, scrolling to the text he had sent you mere minutes ago. "Doesn't sound that eager to me."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to go by the Vault, or whatever its name was." Amara wiggles her eyebrows.

"Are you trying to get me laid with a celebrity?"

She grimaces. "Pfft. He's hot. You're pretty. If you take out the millions on Instagram—" "—and his bank account." Amara shoots you a pointed look. "He looks like a pretty normal guy." She exhales before continuing. "You should have fun. We didn't come here just for me. And he seems like a lot of fun."

Amara wasn't wrong. Yes, you had come here for the Grand Prix, which was her thing, but there was plenty of time for you to have fun. And if fun meant drinking and meeting with an extremely handsome guy, who were you to refuse? You'd probably never see him again, either.

—

views 96 / views 242

—

"Finally!" You shout excitedly.

After waiting for a solid thirty minutes in a very long line outside of Club Vault and paying an entry fee that you're sure is way too expensive, you have finally made it inside. The place is flooded with people drinking, dancing, and talking. The lights are dim, and the music loud; a promising, fun night.

You barely dodge swaying on the dancefloor as Amara drags you to the bar. She orders for you while you look around. The DJ and his setup is on a balcony, above which there is a VIP sign. You squint your eyes as another face comes into view. Is that...Lando Norris?

You blindly reach for Amara, turning her around by the wrist. "Hey, isn't that Norris?"

Despite the ear-deafening music, you're able to hear your best friend's gasp. "Oh, my fucking God! Yes, that's him!" She looks at you, a knowing smile on her lips. "Does that mean that he's here—"

"I don't know!" The bartender nods at you, showing you your drinks. "Let's drink!"

And that's exactly what you do. Your drinks are cold enough to help with the heat of dancing, and you can't lie, Lando—with the help of the actual DJ—plays decent music. Max was right about the place being fun. Amara is doing her weird dance moves, and you're copying her, trying to best her.

You're two drinks in, back turned to the DJ booth, when your best friend's eyes widen, dance moves faltering, and you hear everybody cheer. She elbows you to turn around, and your breath hitches: it's Max. He's actually here with Lando and the DJ. And your heart is racing with excitement. He waves at the crowd below, and everyone cheers louder.

Your lip twitches as an idea forms in your mind. Taking your phone out of your boot (an extremely smart and safe place to hide it—if it fits—btw), you snap a picture of the champion, sending it to your chat.

—

MESSAGES: two. To > max verstappen.

you

one file attached.

just found your lookalike!

max verstappen

THATS ME! WhEere are yoU?!?!8@

you

how much have you had to drink? lol

max verstappen

not drunk .

just shvoing past poepel to get to you

where re uoy?????

you

by the bar

max verstappen

real helpful

you

im wearing black?

seen, now

—

You wait a couple of seconds for the grey bubble to appear. When you don't receive a response, you shrug, putting your phone back in its hiding spot. Your gaze focuses on Amara; she's biting her lip while holding two shots in each hand.

"I stole them!" is all she says.

Your jaw drops, and you giggle, accepting the tiny glasses. You yell cheers before chugging down both of them. Tequila. Nice.

You take a step back, eyes blinking away tears caused by the burn in your throat. You don't realise you've stepped into someone's toes until a shout almost bursts your eardrums.

"Jesus Christ!" You yell, covering the side of your head.

Turning around, you're faced with the one and only; Max Verstappen, holding on to the bar railing with a pained expression. Your eyes almost bulge out of your skull.

"Oh, shit! Are you okay?" You can barely hear yourself.

He nods, throwing a smile your way. "Yeah, I'm good! It's nice to see you!" You're barely able to read his lips.

A pinch on your lower back startles you, and you turn around with a gasp. Amara's standing there, expectant, wide eyes moving from you to Verstappen.

"Oh, Max! This is my best friend, Amara!"

She smiles politely, shaking his offered hand. "Nice to meet you!" You wonder if she's close to passing out from internal fangirling.

His eyes return to you. "Hey, you wanna join my table?"

Shaking your head with a confused grimace, you shout. "I can't hear anything you're saying!"

"What?!"

"I can't hear any—"

It's futile to communicate this way, he decides. Max's slightly cold hands are suddenly pulling on your wrists, gently guiding you closer to him. Goosebumps take over your entire body, forearm burning as he moves his fingers to your elbow, keeping you steady, and he leans toward your ear.

"Wanna join me and my friends?" He feels your breath hitch and pulls back to meet your hesitant gaze.

"We don't want to bother you," you say once you pull him down.

Max shakes his head. "Nonsense! I won the race, and I want to celebrate with my friends."

He hears your breathy chuckle. "We're friends, now?"

"Unless you're some super crazy fangirl I should be worried about." The smile in his voice gives away his amusement. He's quoting his texts.

You pause for a second. Knowing Amara, she would agree immediately. You should have fun, you recall her words from earlier. And he seems like a lot of fun. Yeah. She's right.

"Let me ask 'mara." You point to your best friend, awkwardly standing by the bar.

He watches you talk in her ear, a smile forming on your best friend's lips before she eagerly nods. "You're coming?" He asks once you approach him as if he hadn't been staring at you already.

"Okay." As soon as you nod, Max's smile widens, eyes shining.

You nod, and he feels his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. "C'mon," goosebumps raise on your exposed arms as Max grabs your hand. His hand is so soft. "I don't want you getting lost." The wink he throws your way only fuels the flush on your neck and cheeks.

It's definitely going to be a fun night.

The walk to the VIP section is extremely difficult, with Max getting recognised and patted on the back every few seconds. When you finally make it, you sigh in relief before Max pulls you both by the wrist to meet his friends. Be cool, you mouth to Amara who only nods, wide-eyed.

"Pierre and Kika, Charles and Alex, this is [Y/N] and Amara!" You're sure they can barely hear him over the loud music but wave at them anyway. Charles shares a look with Pierre, the latter unable to contain his smile.

Max leans down, his nose brushing your temple. "Wait just a moment. Lando's around here somewhere." Before you can say a word, he flashes you a smile and disappears into the crowd, leaving you gaping like a fish.

You have no time to recover when the pretty girls approach you. Alex introduces herself as Alexandra, but she doesn't mind going by Alex. Kika's name is Francisca, but she goes by Kika. It's nice to meet them, and you don't hesitate to tell them so.

"Shots?" Amara reappears with four shot glasses passing them to each of you. "Cheers!" You clink your glasses before downing them.

"Oh, are you doing shots without me?!" A new voice pops up from behind you. Amara's eyes widen momentarily, meeting yours in poorly contained excitement.

You turn, gaze landing on Lando Norris and then gluing on Max Verstappen. This lighting makes him look even hotter. Is it normal to be thinking that? Probably not.

He introduces you to the tipsy-looking Brit, who shakes your hands in return. Amara's pulled to the side by Kika, something about doing more shots, and Charles motions for Max to go over to him. Once you're alone with Lando, a smile breaks onto his face.

"He's said a lot about you!" Your brows furrow, confused.

"What? That I tend to get lost easily in big places?" You nervously laugh, but Lando just shakes his head.

"Somethin' like tha'!"

—

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—

You haven't had this much fun in a while. You and Amara usually go to two clubs as a duo, but you admit having more people to dance and do shots with is way more fun. You're usually the sober one, having a higher tolerance for alcohol than your best friend, and this time you're extra careful since you're in a foreign place.

At some point during your dance battle with Kika and Amara, you grow tired. As much as you liked exaggerating your moves, your boots were made for walking, not jumping. Max had been out of your vision for a while, and you decided to look for him. He wasn't hard to find, considering he was nursing a drink on a couch further away from the action.

"Hey!" You plop down, bumping your elbow with his.

Max grinned. "Hey, stranger. Are you having fun?"

You nod excitedly. "Your friends are really nice." He snorts at that. "No, really! Drive to Survive does justice to none of you!"

Max's eyes widen, mouth hanging in shock. "Your source of information is a Netflix show?"

"Hey! I had to start from somewhere. I knew next to nothing about racing."

Conversing with Max comes naturally. He's funny, and he listens to what you have to say. He asks about your job: a photographer for brands. He laughs when you tell him you prefer the make-up brands because they're easier to manage than people.

He explains racing to you in simple terms. You nod along, trying your best to take in the information. It's harder with all the music and dancing bodies, but you make it work. You've shuffled even closer to him as Max leans down to talk directly in your ear while his hands move animatedly in front of you.

At some point, the conversation shifts to cats. You're delighted to learn that he has not one, but two big babies. Jimmy and Sassy. Max is a very proud cat dad, you conclude, from the excitement that exudes from every pore of his body as he slides from picture to picture.

"Oh my goodness! They're so cute!" You try not to literally squeal as Max stumbles upon a picture of them napping on his chest.

"They sleep all day and ask for treats all night." You laugh as he rolls his eyes, probably recalling every time this has happened.

"Oh, I'd love to meet them one day. They look lovely!"

"Yeah, I could introduce you someday," he says, and you turn to look at him with a huge smile.

"I should bring my Cheddar when it happens."

"Cheddar?"

"My cat. He's a big fluffball." You reach for your phone, unlocking it to search for pictures of your orange cat.

"And you named him Cheddar? After the cheese?" He looks at you incredulously.

You giggle at his expression. "He's as orange as the cheese. It was my mom's idea to name him that."

You turn your phone his way, showing him a selfie of the fluffiest cat Max has ever seen on top of your shoulders. You're clearly giggling in it, a hand over your mouth. Cute, he thinks.

"He's adorable."

"And fat," you add.

Tapping a most recent picture, you show it to Max. Cheddar is on his back, his fat ass making him look like a pear. Your mom had sent you this just a day before.

"He's staying with my mom right now. And she's feeding him more than needed."

"We should arrange a playdate." You chuckle at Max's suggestion.

"Sure, if you fly out to England."

Before Max can respond, a very loud and drunk Brit makes his way to you. Lando grins when he spots you two sitting close, indiscreetly winking at Max. Your face feels warm.

"Do you guys wan' t' leave?" You barely make out his words.

Charles notices the three of you and pulls a dancing Alex with him, who pulls Amara with her. The three make their way to where you're seated.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Lando turns to him. "Are you hungry, mate?"

Charles shakes his head, leaning close to Alex to ask her the same. She also shakes her head with an apologetic smile.

"I am!" Amara nudges Lando, and his eyes light up.

He turns to Max and you. "Me and my new friend," he pulls Amara by the shoulders, and she drunkenly stumbles, "are hungry. Will you take us somewhere to eat?"

You look at Max, who mirrors your smiling expression. Lando says something about Max promising to be his chauffeur if he got too drunk.

"I could eat," you shrug. Max nods, agreeing.

He stands up, looking at the drunk pair. "Okay, let's go."

—

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