#that's killed my enthusiasm for this afternoon

[kiesbrainjuice]

— FAV HQ BOYS WITH THIS TREND !

pr : timeskip!bokuto x fem!reader; timeskip!suna x fem!reader; timeskip!kageyama x fem!reader; nekoma!kuroo x fem!reader; timeskip!atsumu x fem!reader.

syn : you show your boyfriend a trending photo pose. After some playful banter, you both decide to try recreating the pose.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

wc : 3.5k

tw : no noya and kenma :(( suggestive talks and ends, fluff ! credit pic : srkork on insta

— BOKUTO KOTARO

The lazy Sunday afternoon stretched out before us like a cat in a sunbeam. Outside, the world was alive with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of neighbors enjoying the warm weather. But inside our cozy apartment, time seemed to slow to a delicious crawl.

Bokuto Koutarou and I were sprawled across our bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter. The late afternoon sun filtered through our fluttering curtains, painting everything in a soft, golden glow. It caught in Bokuto's wild silver hair, making it shine like a haphazard halo. I couldn't help but marvel at how even in this state of complete relaxation, he managed to look like he'd just stepped off a volleyball court – his muscular arm draped over my waist, a reminder of the power coiled within his laid-back frame.

We'd spent the morning in a whirlwind of activity – a impromptu volleyball match with friends that had turned into a picnic, which had then evolved into a competitive round of frisbee. By the time we made it home, we were pleasantly exhausted, content to lounge in comfortable silence.

Now, we were both absorbed in our phones, sharing the occasional meme or funny video. Bokuto's laughter, when it erupted, was like a sudden thunderclap – loud, infectious, and impossible to ignore. It never failed to make me smile, even when I had no idea what had tickled him so.

I was idly scrolling through Pinterest, looking for new recipe ideas (though knowing full well that Bokuto would eat anything I put in front of him with the same enthusiastic gusto), when a particular image caught my eye. It was edgy, provocative, and unlike anything we'd ever tried before.

"Bo," I said, gently nudging his ribs with my elbow. "look at this. It's pretty nice."

He rolled over, nearly crushing me in the process, his golden eyes bright with curiosity. "What's up, babe? Found another cute owl video?"

I shook my head, angling my phone so he could see the screen. "Nah, it's this new photo trend. Check it out."

The image showed a couple taking a selfie, but with a twist. The guy had his arm around the girl's neck, pretending to choke her in what was meant to be an sexy, edgy pose. It was provocative, to say the least.

Bokuto's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his messy fringe. "Whoa, hold up! Is he trying to choke her or something? That's...weird!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. You could see the confusion on his face. Bokuto was usually up for anything, but this clearly threw him for a loop. "No, no, it's not real choking," you explained. "It's just for the picture, to make it look sexy and l possessive."

He scratched his head, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement. "I dunno, baby… It looks kinda weird. What if I really choke you with those strong arms of mine?"

You turned to face him, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Come onnnn, Bo. You could look sexy and scary! You're like a big, cuddly owl."

He puffed out his chest, trying to look offended but failing miserably. "Hey! I can be sexy and scary when I want to be!"

You laughed, poking his cheek. "Sure you can, tough guy. So, do it for me!"

Bokuto's face scrunched up in thought for a moment before breaking into a grin. "Alright, let's do it baby! But if i choke you, we're deleting it and I’m killing myself, okay?"

You grinned back, relieved. "Deal. And hey, if it doesn't work out, do not kill urself please, Bo."

"If you ask!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "But even if you have the picture don’t post it!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. "Of course I won’t, Bo. Let's start with this and see how it goes."

After your initial attempt, you had an idea. "Hey Bo, let's try using the mirror length for the picture.”

Bokuto's eyes lit up. "Ooh, yeah! We can see more of us that way!"

You scrambled off the bed and positioned yourselves in front of the mirror. It was then that you really noticed what Bokuto was wearing - one of his compression shirts that he usually wore for volleyball practice. The tight black fabric clung to every contour of his muscular torso, accentuating his broad shoulders and defined chest.

You couldn't help but stare for a moment. Even after all this time, the sight of him like this still made your heart race. "Uh, Bo? Have you always looked this good in that shirt?"

He glanced down at himself, then back at you with a mischievous grin. "Oh? Like what you see, huh?"

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Maybe. Just a little."

Bokuto flexed playfully, striking a pose. "Well, I did just finish a workout this morning. Gotta keep in shape for my number one!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Alright, muscles, let's focus on the photo. Same pose as the pic?"

He nodded, moving behind you and wrapping his arm around your neck. This time, you could feel the warmth of his chest against my back, the firm pressure of his muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was... distracting, to say the least.

"Ready?"You asked, trying to keep my voice steady as you held up your phone.

"Ready!" Bokuto replied, his breath tickling your ear.

You snapped the picture, capturing your reflection in the mirror. Bokuto's arm was around your neck, his intense "game face" expression in full effect. But what really stood out was the contrast between you both - his powerful, athletic frame in that form-fitting shirt, next to your smaller figure.

As soon as the picture was taken, Bokuto's serious expression melted into a grin. He peered over your shoulder at the phone screen. "Wow! We look good, don't we?"

You nodded, a little breathless. "Yeah, we do. Especially you in that shirt. Maybe you should wear it more often."

Bokuto's grin widened. "Oh? I thought you liked my owl-print t-shirts better…"

You turned in his arms, looking up at him. "Let's just say both have their merits! But right now, I'm definitely appreciating this one."

You handed him the phone to show him the photo you took. his eyes opened wider and he felt quite aroused by the photo of you surrounded by his arm. “w-wow, you turn me on…”

But he tried to get over it and leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Noted. So, another picture, or...?"

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I think we've got enough pictures for now. How about we find something else to do…?"

Bokuto's golden eyes sparkled with mischief. "I might have a few ideas…"

As he leaned in for a kiss you chuckled into it…

— SUNA RINTAROU

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The sun was shining bright outside, and a cool breeze was blowing. In your room, everything felt slow and peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that feels good when you're with someone you really like.

Suna, your boyfriend, was lying on your bed, looking relaxed. His eyes were half-closed as he looked at his phone. The sun made his face look nice, showing off his sharp jaw and the small smile on his lips. You couldn't help but stare a little.

You were both doing your own thing, but still felt close. Sometimes Suna would laugh at something on his phone, or you'd say something small. It felt nice and normal. In these quiet times, you felt closest to Suna. He looked softer than usual, and you could see how much he cared even if he didn't say it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"baby," you said, breaking the comfortable silence. "look at this."

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes, usually half-lidded, showed a flicker of interest. "What's up?"

You showed him the picture on your phone - a couple doing the possessive choking pose with the muscular arm for a selfie. "It's this new photo trend. Kind of sexy, don't you think?"

Suna's eyebrows raised slightly, the most expression you'd seen from him all afternoon. "Huh? Interesting choice for a couples photo…"

You could see the wheels turning in his head as he analyzed the image. Suna was always observant, probably already picking up on details you'd missed.

"Wanna try it?" you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice.

He looked at you, then back at the phone, a small smirk playing on his lips. "You sure about that? I don't think you could pull off the 'dramatically choked' look. You'd probably start laughing."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. He knew you too well. "Oh, c’mon. I can be serious when I want to be!"

Suna sat up, his movements fluid and graceful. "Alright, let's see it then. Your ‘serious’ face."

You tried your best to look serious and dramatic, but you could feel your lips twitching, fighting back a smile.

Suna's smirk grew wider. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Very intimidating."

You grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, which he easily dodged. "It’s your fault, your face makes me laugh! How about you show me how it's done?"

He shrugged, but you could see a glimmer of competitive spirit in his eyes. "Well thanks…” he sighed and raised his eyebrows ”And sure, why not. Could be interesting."

You positioned yourselves in front of the mirror. Suna stood behind you, his arm loosely draped around your neck. Even in this silly pose, you could feel the quiet strength in his lean muscles.

"Ready?" you asked, holding up your phone.

Suna nodded, his face transforming into an intense, focused expression that you usually only saw during volleyball matches. It was almost unnerving how quickly he could switch it on.

You snapped the picture, capturing your reflection. Suna's intense muscular arm bore into the camera, a stark contrast to your slightly flustered expression.

As soon as the picture was taken, Suna's arm relaxed back into its usual demeanor. He peered at the phone screen over your shoulder.

"Not bad," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Though I think we just proved my point about your serious face, baby."

You elbowed him gently in the ribs. "shut up. Not everyone can go from zero to intimidating in half a second like you."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. "It's a gift," he deadpanned, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

You leaned back into him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. "So, what do you think? Should we post it?"

Suna was quiet for a moment, considering. "Nah," he finally said. "Let's keep this one just for us. It's more sexy that way."

You smiled, turning in his arms to face him. "You know, for someone who acts so aloof, you can be pretty sweet sometimes."

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint blush on his cheeks. "Don't go spreading that around. I have a reputation to maintain. And look at you in my so-muscular arm…"

As you leaned in to kiss him, “I look pretty hot like that…”

— TOBIO KAGEYAMA

It was a rare day off from volleyball practice. You and Tobio were in your living room, trying to relax. The TV was on, playing a volleyball match, but neither of you was really watching. Tobio sat on the couch, his posture a bit stiff, eyes darting between his phone and the TV screen.

"baby," you said, gently nudging his arm. "look at this."

He turned to you, his intense blue eyes focusing. "What is it?"

You showed him your phone screen - a picture of a couple doing the possessive choking pose for a selfie. "It's a new photo trend. Kind of sexy, right?"

Tobio's brow furrowed as he stared at the image. "Why would anyone want a picture like that?" he asked bluntly.

You couldn't help but smile at his typical straightforward response. "I guess some people think it looks sexy or possessive, like me. Want to try it? Just for fun?"

He looked confused for a moment. "Is this important to you?"

"Noooo," you admitted. "I just thought it might be fun to see how it turns out. Be please baby!"

Tobio hesitated, then nodded with a sigh. "Okay. If it'll make you happy..."

You both stood up and moved in front of the mirror. Tobio proudly put his muscular arm around your neck, and started flexing to show off his muscles, which made you chuckle a bit.

"Tobio, can you hold less tight," you said, a hint of teasing in your voice. "I know already how you are muscular, don’t worry baby."

He adjusted his grip slightly, his face a mix of concentration and redness. "L-like this?"

"Perfect. Now pose for me, baby."

Tobio's expression immediately changed to his game face - eyes sharp and focused, jaw set. It was almost scary how quickly he could switch it on.

You snapped the picture quickly. As soon as it was done, Tobio dropped his arm and stepped back, looking relieved.

Looking at the photo, you couldn't help but chuckle. Tobio's intense muscular and flexed arm next to your slightly amused smile was quite a sight.

"What's so funny?" Tobio asked, peering at the screen while chuckling.

"Just us, baby," you said, still smiling. "We look so serious. It's kind of sexy actually, don't you think?"

Tobio's cheeks turned slightly pink. "It's... different," he mumbled. "But I like how you are in my arm like that..."

You felt a warmth in your chest at his honesty. "Me too, baby. How about we take a nice, cozy pic now?"

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Okay. But no more weird poses."

As you cuddled up to take a regular selfie, you kissed his cheek “I love you, Tobio.”

— KUROO TETSURO

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon at training camp. You were sitting on the grass outside the gym, enjoying a brief respite from the intense volleyball practices. Kuroo sauntered over, his trademark messy hair even more disheveled than usual, and flopped down beside you with a dramatic sigh.

"Exhausted already, captain?" you teased, poking his side.

He flashed you his signature smirk. "Me? Never. Just giving the others a chance to catch up."

You rolled your eyes fondly. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Hey, check this out."

You showed him your phone screen - a picture of a couple doing the possessive choking pose for a selfie. "It's some new photo trend. Pretty hot, huh?"

Kuroo's eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh? Trying to tell me something, kitten? Didn't know you were into that kind of thing..."

You felt your cheeks heat up as he leaned close to your face, brushing your lips with his at the end of his sentence. "Tetsu! It's not like that. It's just supposed to be…artistic or whatever."

He chuckled, leaning in closer. "Relax, I'm just teasing. Though I gotta say, it does look nice for us. Wanna try?"

You blinked, surprised by his enthusiasm. "Really? You don't think it's too weird?"

Kuroo shrugged, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Hey, I'm always up for trying new things with you! Plus, it could be fun to mess with the team later."

You couldn't help but laugh. "You're impossible. Alright, let's do it and my arm is muscular, I could show you..."

You both stood up and moved to a nearby wall. Kuroo positioned himself behind you, his flexed arm draped around your neck. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, and it was... distracting, to say the least.

"Ready?" he murmured, his breath tickling your ear when he leaned down just to adjust right after.

You nodded, trying to keep your composure as you held up your phone. "Okay, try to look hot."

“Try?? I don’t even need to try!” He acted offended. Kuroo's expression immediately transformed into his focused game face, the one that always sent shivers down opponents' spines. It was almost unnerving how quickly he could switch it on.

You snapped the picture, then turned in Kuroo's arms to look at it together. The contrast between his muscular arm and your slightly flustered expression was striking.

"Well, well," Kuroo said, his voice low and teasing. "Looks like my arm is so hot, don't you think? Though I gotta say, you look hot under the collar there, kitten. Was it something I did?"

You elbowed him gently, but couldn't help smiling. "Oh, shut up. You're such a tease."

He laughed, pulling you closer. "You love it though, admit it, baby."

You leaned into him, enjoying his warmth. "Maybe. But don't let it go to your head. It's big enough as it is."

Kuroo gasped in mock offense. "My head is perfectly proportional, thank you very much. Anyway, now I can show to everyone that you’re mine…"

He kissed your lips with hunger, but you pushed him back gently. “Not here…”

He took your hand and brings you up, the silly photo forgotten for the moment.

— ATSUMU MIYA

The MSBY Black Jackals' training facility was quieter than usual, the usual squeaks of shoes on polished floors and the thunderous impacts of spikes replaced by a lazy afternoon lull. Most of the team had already left for the day, their energy spent on grueling drills and practice matches. The air still held a faint scent of sweat, mingled with the sharp tang of air salonpas.

You had been waiting for what felt like hours, alternating between watching Atsumu's extra practice through the gym windows of the lounge area and idly scrolling through your phone. It was a familiar routine - Atsumu pushing himself just a little further, always chasing that perfect set, while you patiently waited, a silent pillar of support. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the lounge area where you sat, when you finally heard the telltale sound of the gym doors opening and Atsumu's distinctive footsteps approaching.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Oi, still hanging around?" he called out, a smirk playing on his lips.

You looked up, matching his smirk. "Someone's gotta make sure you don't overwork yourself, the Pro Athlete."

Walking behind you to give you a shoulder massage for a few seconds and kiss you on the mouth from behind, he stopped by to sit on the sofa in the lounge next to you to cuddle slightly.

Atsumu plopped down next to you, peering at your phone. "Whatcha looking at? Better not be Tobio-kun's serves again."

You snorted. "As if. No, look at this trend."

You showed him the picture of the couple doing the possessive choking pose. Atsumu's eyebrows shot up.

"Well, ain't that something," he drawled. "People really do anything for likes these days, huh?"

"Says the guy who spent an hour perfecting his hair for his official team photo," you retorted.

Atsumu clutched his chest in mock hurt. "Your wounds cut deep, ya know that?"

You laughed, then had an idea. "Hey, we should try it."

"Try what? You wanna make out here, huh?" Atsumu looked skeptical but was ready to jump on you if you nodded, which you didn’t.

"The pose, dummy. Could be funny."

Atsumu's eyes glinted with mischief. "Oh? You want me to manhandle you for the 'gram? Kinky."

You felt your face heat up as you gently push his head of your shoulder to face him. "Shut up, 'Tsumu. You in or not?"

"'Course I'm in. Can't let my baby down, can I?"

You both stood up, moving to a clear wall. Atsumu positioned himself behind you, his flexed arm tight around your neck.

"Ready when you are, darlin'," he murmured close to your ear.

You suppressed a shiver. "Okay, press."

Atsumu's arm pressed your cheeks and flexed his muscles. You snapped the picture quickly before you could faint from blushing.

Looking at it together, you couldn't help but laugh. "We look ridiculous."

"Speak for yerself," Atsumu retorted. "I look dashingly hot."

You elbowed him playfully. "Your ego is showing, 'Tsumu."

He grinned, pulling you closer. "Ya love it though."

As you leaned into him, he carried you like a princess to the lounge sofa: he had locked the door…

pic :

Ⓡ kiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[vivwritesfics]

Spider-Man Kiss

One particularly bad crash lands her in hospital, out for the count. Max, Lando and Charles visit her every single day. While she's out the reader lives several different lives. The one thing they all have in common? Her boys

Max Verstappen x Reader, Lando Norris x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader

Any suggestions for the fandoms used in the next part would be much appreciated!! I'm thinking maybe pjo, maybe harry potter, maybe star wars but im not sure

The Second Part The Third Part

Huge thanks to @cheriladycl01 for their help with this one

The Ferrari hadn’t felt right all afternoon. But her engineers insisted that there was nothing wrong with the car, that she should keep driving. So, she did just that. Qualifying had been good, not the best, but good, and she’d started in fourth.

But then she was overtaken by a Mercedes. She wasn’t sure what Mercedes; she just knew it was a Mercedes. The car fell apart after that. It wasn’t long before she lost control of the car. Her back tyre clipped the corner and sent her flying into the barriers.

The session was red flagged when she didn’t climb out of her car or respond on the radio. “What happened?” Asked Max Verstappen as he led the rest of grid into the pit lane. His engineer didn’t tell him right away. He let Max stop his car before he told him.

Charles and Lando had been behind her. Charles himself had almost been involved in the accident, having followed close behind. “Fuck, Y/N!” He shouted as it happened. With no other choice but to keep driving, Charles looked in his mirrors, trying to watch for her leaving the car. At the red flag he was panicking. This couldn’t have been good news.

“Holy shit,” Lando found himself saying as he drove past the Ferrari in the barriers. “Is she okay?” But nobody had an answer for him.

She was pulled out of the car and placed onto a stretcher. She was out cold as they placed her in the ambulance and drove away. As soon as her car was removed from the barrier the race resumed. But neither of the three drivers could concentrate. All she had been told was that she was alive, but they couldn’t stop worrying about her.

For maybe the first time in all of their careers, they couldn’t wait for the race to end. It was a foreign sensation, and none of them liked it. The podium wasn’t for celebrating, and none of them were filled with enthusiasm as they covered one another in champagne.

As soon as they could they raced to the hospital to be by her side. It wasn’t an easy sight, seeing her lying on the hospital bed, connected to a drip. “Oh my God,” whispered Lando as he slipped in the seat beside her and took her hand. Max sat on a small space on her bed and Charles leaned against the wall beside the bed.

Videos of the crash had been all over social media. The boys couldn’t go into Instagram without seeing it. Sure, the captions and comments were all wishing her well, but it was still hard to see. “I wonder what she’s dreaming about,” Charles said quietly, almost sadly as he petted her hair.

“I hope it’s something nice,” Max said, kissing the side of her head.

***

The party was in full swing. The drinks were flowing, and Y/N had already had plenty. Charles stood behind the bar, serving with a sultry smile, and Lewis entertained his guests. She sat beside Daniel, leaning against him as she sipped her drink. He was speaking to Max, a man who still refused to acknowledge everyone.

Lewis and Max didn’t get along. It was understandable, Max had been an unstoppable killing machine, and he’d killed Lewis’s parents. But they’d saved the world together, and he was giving him a chance.

The Iron Man, in his strapping suit, walked past and offered Y/N his hand. “Dance with me,” Lewis said and she happily obliged, handing Daniel her drink to look after.

Daniel may have been Australian, but he was still Captain America. He certainly loved this country enough to be their Captain America. He protected Y/N’s drink as he continued talking to Max. Misunderstood Max, who had been his best friend all those years ago. Max, who had been ripped away from him in the war. Max, who wasn’t the same man he used to be now that he was returned to him.

“Where’s Lando?” She asked as she danced with him.

Lewis shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, you know kids. He’s probably swinging about somewhere.”

She gave him a look, one that said she was unimpressed. “You didn’t invite him, did you?” She asked, and Lewis looked at the floor, still slightly smiling. “Lewis! He really looks up to you,” she said and stepped away from him.

“Hey!” Lewis called after her. “Where are you going?”

“To get him!” She called back as she grabbed her coat. Lewis, Max and Daniel watched as she walked out of the tower they called home.

Lando wasn’t an easy guy to find. He didn’t answer his phone when he was in his suit, swinging from building to building. The easiest way to find him was to look up (and follow the news articles).

Currently, Lando was sat on top of the building opposite Lewis’s, watching as the party went on without him. He’d just so happened to land on the building opposite during his nightly patrol, and it was just a little heart breaking. He didn’t see as Y/N left the party to go find him, just continued to watch as Pierre sat on the bar as Charles poured drinks.

Using news sites, Y/N found herself on the next roof over. Lando didn’t spot her. But she certainly spotted him. As quickly as she could, she left the roof and ran over to the next building.

Lando knew she was there before she opened the door. Well, he knew that somebody was there. He stood up in an almost protective stance, waiting for her to push open the door to the roof.

"Lan?" She called softly as she walked towards him. "What're you doing up here?"

He pulled his mask off as he strode towards her. "Having fun at the party?" He asked somewhat bitterly.

She gave him a look. "C'mon," she said, reaching for him. "Lewis meant to invite you but he never got around to it. I came to get you."

But Lando didn't believe her. Of course he didn't. She stepped up to him and ran her fingers through his hair. They'd always been close, and, as much as he wanted to kiss her, he couldn't. Not yet.

Lando bit the inside of his cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and looked down at her, waiting for her next move. "I left the party to come get you," she said as she gently swayed from side to side. "How about you swing us across and we can crash the party," she said.

He pulled his mask back over his face and wrapped on arms around her. "Hold on tight," he said and she squeezed her arms around him.

Lando swung them across. He shot a web at Lewis's tower and swung them both across, landing them on the helicopter pad. Even once they had landed Lando still had his arms around her. She giggled and pulled his mask off as she grabbed a hold of him and pulled him through the tower.

The party was dwindling down. Daniel and Max were still there, as was Charles and Pierre. Esteban was pulling on his coat, heading out, and Lewis was surveying everything from the landing above.

"Sorry we're late," said Y/N as she pulled Lando over to the bar. Charles got the both of them a drink and Y/N pulled him over to Max and Daniel.

Daniel liked Lando. He was a good kid and Daniel knew he had a lot to give. It took some time for Max to warm up for Lando, but he felt somewhat protective over him, like Lando was some lost puppy.

"We were wondering when you were gonna turn up," Daniel said as he leaned back in his chair.

Lando pulled at his suit somewhat uncomfortably. "Anybody got anything I can change into?" He asked as he sipped at his drink.

Nodding his head, Max stood up and led Lando out of the room to get changed into something a lot more comfortable.

"I'm not surprised you went to get him," said Daniel as Y/N sat herself opposite. She rolled her eyes and leaned back, looking towards the doorway. "You've liked him since our Formula One days."

"What?" She asked quickly. "What did you say?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "I said you've liked him since he first joined the team."

That was definitely not what he said, but she didn't call into into question. "Have not," she mumbled, quickly finishing her drink.

Daniel rolled his eyes. On the next mission, he was putting them together. They could work it out then."

***

"Here," Lando said as he bought Max something to eat. Just days before Max and Charles had gone into Y/N's apartment and pulled books from her shelf. They took it in turns to read to her as she laid in her hospital bed.

A few of the grid had come by to see her, to wish her well. But, to them, it wasn't looking good. Daniel tried to talk to her, tried to jog her awake that way, but it wasn't working. Nothing seemed to be working.

Eventually their teams came to pull them away. They still had a job to do, and she would want them to do it. But it was damn near impossible to leave her. It broke their goddamn hearts.

"Keep dreaming, chérie," said Charles as he kissed the top of her head. Max squeezed her hand, but he got no squeeze in return. Lando couldn't bear to leave her.

***

The first half of the mission was a success. They stopped H.Y.D.R.A from making more super soldiers or something (nobody was really concentrating on the first half of the mission. It was piece of cake anyway) and were ready to head home.

Except one of their cohort was missing. Spider-Man was nowhere to be seen. "Lan?" Y/N said into her comm. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

There was a moment of a struggle, not like Lando was in trouble, but like he was pushing on something. "Yeah," he said. "I'm... somewhere. I've been locked in a room."

Daniel let out a sigh. "Let's go find him," he said and led the way. Daniel led Y/N back through the H.Y.D.R.A base, almost like he knew exactly where to go.

In a room deep inside of the base, Y/N ran over to the closet. There was chains holding the doors shut with a padlock keeping them secure. The doors shook; clearly Lando was in there.

"Danny? Use those strong arms of your and pull these open," she said as she stood beside the closet door.

Daniel did just that. He pulled open the closet door, but he didn't let Lando out. Instead he pushed Y/N inside and shut the door again, holding them shut. "Daniel, what the hell?!" She shouted as she pounded against the door. "Let us out, you dick!"

"Not until you kiss or something!" He shouted back.

She could barely see in the dark closet as Lando pulled off his mask, his hair messy. "What is he going on about?" He asked as he leaned against the wall.

Y/N let out a sigh. It was now or never. "Our gracious Captain America thinks I have a crush on you," she said as she continued to push on the door. But Daniel was annoyingly strong and the door wouldn't budge.

Lando looked at her. "Do you?" He asked somewhat hesitantly.

She tried the best to look at him in the darkness. "Would it matter if I do?"

He thought about it for a moment. Yeah, it really would matter. Instead of answering, Lando climbed his way up the wall. He went to the middle of the ceiling and let himself hang down. "Have you ever heard of a Spider-Man kiss?"

Her hands held his cheek. She leaned forward and kissed him. Their eyes were shut as Y/N tried to pull him closer. But it was impossible, he was as close as he could possibly be.

It was so intoxicating. She was so intoxicating that Lando nearly slipped off the wall. He still had a hold of it as Daniel opened the door to let them out. He probably wouldn't have believed them unless he saw it with his own eyes, saw the way Lando kissed her.

Her eyes opened when she saw the light flooding into the closet. "Wow," she whispered, but it was only for Lando's ears. But she still pulled away and lunged at Daniel, knocking him to the floor. Her punches weren't hurting him. As she punched him she said a quiet, "thank you."

Daniel couldn't stop himself from grinning.

***

Lando brushed his fingers through her hair. As soon as the race was over he headed back to the hospital to once again be at her side. "I miss you," he whispered, his hands stilling. "We all do. But I think me and Max and Charles miss you the most."

He didn't expect a response. And he didn't get one.

"You missed Monza. I know how much you love Monza." She excelled at Monza. Everybody expected this to be her first Ferrari win. The TIFOSI loved her and couldn't wait to see her win in Italy.

But she didn't get to this year. Lando would have loved to watch her win, to stand on the podium with her.

"Fuck." Tears sprung to his ears. "I miss you so fucking much."

[anananass]

Wriothesley reacting to you telling him you’re pregnant

warning: a little suggestive but otherwise extremely sweet because he is a silly man with a big heart in my eyes

note: I will keep this one part with him only but AHHH I’m planning on doing some of the other boys in the near future because hughshhsh

Wriothesley

You decide to bring the fortunate news at the most random moment ever.

There you are, enjoying some tea in silence during his afternoon break whilst both your favorite artist plays in the background making the best atmosphere for a regular afternoon.

Truthfully, you figured the news not too long ago but right when you found out, you thought of how you should inform him. Wrio loves children from the bottom of his heart and does anything in his power to assure their safety and well being and that alone causes you to melt at the simplest thought of telling him that he himself is going to be a father. But how should you tell him???

He deserves to fibf out in a big way but at the same time, can you really resist keeping your lips shut???

To sum up, you can’t, not with the tensed look he is flashing you. Is he able to read the air and notice you are pondering really hard?

“Something on your mind, darling?” He asks, genuinely curious, but when you take longer than usual to respond his expression turns into one of worry. Still, he is so sweet and just assumes you might have a little difficulty with telling him what’s bothering you so he gives you the time.

But his icy eyes and the awkward silence consume you so much that you sigh and just stare at him for a little longer. You need to figure how you’re gonna word all that and it’s okay, he doesn’t mind it although it’s eating at him.

“There is something I should tell you.” You finally utter whilst holding back your breath for the big announcement you’re about to make. However, he mistakes your enthusiasm and excitement for worry and anxiety.

“Come on, tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Anything it is, just say it and it’s done. ” He insists and lifts himself from the chair just to cut the corner of the desk so he can kneel before you to bring a sense of comfort within you. He even holds your hand and stares deeply into your eyes and dear god, the tint of wonder mixed with concern in his eyes is killing you.

You gulp and take a big breath before unleashing the news. “You know… remember when I told you back then that you’d make a great father? When you took care of that lost child?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He doesn’t catch the hint but only because his priority is your current mental wellbeing that he has to ensure is fine.

“What if I told you that you WILL be a great father?” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you give him the brightest, the most radiant smile that he has ever laid his eyes on, and even with that he can’t figure what you’re referencing.

He remains unresponsive for a second and soon enough, the digits begin to add up. He is going to be… a father?? Is that what you meant??? He has to make sure he’s not getting the wrong idea.

“y/n.” He murmurs, sounding all soft and quiet while his eyebrows raise. His eyes begin traversing your whole face and it’s looking a bit more intense than he probably intended.

“Wrio.” You repeat after him, just waiting for him to say it himself.

“Am I going to be one?” Those words barely slip his throat, they sound almost stuttered, as if he was holding back tears perhaps? His heart races the more he processes this possible information.

you don’t give him a straight answer but lower your head to your belly and place gentle rubs against the lower of your stomach, occasionally flashing him glimpses of your eyes.

His eyes follow your motions and he is utterly unable to take his eyes off you. He allows for the silence to settle once more and instead firmly places his wide hand against yours so he could feel your touch, and where the baby will be. You notice a gentle smile paint his face, and with each second it seems to be widening more and more.

That’s your favorite side of him to see and it’s fine, he doesn’t need to say anything more, his gesture is just enough to show you how content he is right now.

However, as soon as both your eyes lock back onto each other, he leans in to melt a kiss against your partly open lips. Now that he’s much closer, you can hear his heavy breathing growing steadied. Then, you feel his hand slowly creep closer to your lower back and within a few seconds, he begins pushing you closer toward him. His other hand finds your thighs as a resting spot. His fingers tug at your skin but different than usual, it’s rather a gentle grip that still pushes you to make some noises that are music to his ears.

Shortly after, he parts away from you. “God, the way you’ll look so stunning.” He mouths softly and immediately eyes your belly again.

He can’t lie to himself but feel a little worried about how he’ll handle a child. Not that it’ll be a hard thing to do, but… will he be a good one? Will he be up to his own standards and be the father he never had but yearned so deeply for? Will he take good care of you? Is he worthy of such a blessing in his life? And most importantly, will you still consider him worthy of being a father afterwards? You know, definitely not because he wants more than one child.

[whereforarthur]

Love at First Podcast

Request: oh one where your a recent new youtuber who’s grown really fast and you get on bach’s and arthur podcast and arthur thinks you’re pretty and is instally his types when he finds out your interests are like his, like his cute like intrested in shark facts and playing chess <33

Pairing: ArthurTv x Youtuber!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

*****

“Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people talked about soul mates, poor deluded individuals grasping at some supernatural ideal not intended for mortals but sounded pretty in a poetry book. Then, we met, and everything changed, the cynic has become the converted, the sceptic, an ardent zealot.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri

"Alright, love, you're on in three, two, one..."

The countdown echoed in my ear, and my heart skipped a beat as the podcast host's voice grew distant. I, Y/n, a London-based YouTuber with a burgeoning audience, had scored a guest spot on "The Bach and Arthur Podcast," a podcast hosted by none other than ItalianBach and ArthurTv. Known for their charismatic banter and intellectual discussions, the duo had stumbled upon my channel during a late-night scroll and had been asked by their viewers to have me on as a guest, thinking that me and Arthur would get along.

Arthur's husky voice resonated through the airwaves, "Welcome to the podcast, Y/n. We're thrilled to have you with us today."

My voice quivered slightly as I replied, "Thanks for having me, guys. I'm a bit nervous, to be honest."

"Don't worry," Isaac assured me with a chuckle, "We're just here to have a good chat."

The conversation flowed easily as we discussed various topics, from the latest YouTube drama to our favorite hobbies. It was when we touched on shark facts that Arthur's interest seemed to peak. His eyes lit up, and his enthusiasm was palpable even through the microphone.

"Oh, you're into sharks, are you?" Arthur's voice was a warm cup of tea on a rainy afternoon, comforting and inviting. "I've always been fascinated by those majestic creatures. Did you know that the average human is more likely to be killed by a falling coconut than a shark?"

My mind raced as I tried to keep up with Arthur's sudden barrage of facts. It was clear he had a deep love for these predators of the deep, and I couldn't help but be charmed by his passion. As we delved further into the topic, I found myself smiling more and more at his excitement. The way he spoke about sharks with such affection and admiration was like nothing I had ever heard before.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he listened to me share my favorite shark trivia. Inwardly, I was kicking myself for not preparing more. I hadn't expected to find someone as enamored with these creatures as I was, especially not a well-known YouTuber like him. It was like he had peeked into the secret corners of my soul and found the one thing that truly made me tick.

"So, Y/n," Arthur began, his tone smooth and curious, "What sparked your interest in sharks?"

I took a deep breath, ready to dive into my lifelong obsession. "Well, it all started when I was a kid. My granddad used to take me to the aquarium every summer. There was this massive shark tank, and I was just captivated by them. They're so misunderstood, you know? They're not mindless killers, they're just doing their thing in the ocean, keeping the ecosystem in check."

Arthur nodded eagerly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Absolutely. And what's your favorite species?"

The question caught me off guard, but I replied without hesitation, "The thresher shark. They're so elegant with their long tails. It's like watching a ballet dancer underwater."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, and a grin spread across his face. "Thresher sharks? That's a unique choice. They're quite fascinating indeed."

*****

In the midst of our shared enthusiasm, Arthur's thoughts veered inward. He couldn't believe the person he was talking to was not only beautiful but also shared his obscure interest in sharks. It was like finding a unicorn in a bustling London street. He had always appreciated a good-looking person, but to find someone as pretty as Y/n who also loved the same quirky things he did? It was almost too good to be true.

Isaac, ever the observant one, couldn't help but tease his friend. "Arthur, it seems like you've found your soulmate here," he said with a smirk, interrupting our shark-filled discussion. "The only thing that would make this better is if she was into chess too."

The room grew quiet for a moment as Arthur's cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink. "Well, as it happens," I began, a playful smile forming on my lips, "I've been playing chess since I was eight. My dad taught me, and it's been a bit of a family tradition."

Arthur's jaw practically dropped. "No way," he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and excitement. "That's incredible. I've been playing since I was about the same age."

The energy in the room shifted as the three of us swapped stories about our chess triumphs and defeats. Arthur's passion was contagious, and before I knew it, I was sharing tales of late-night tournaments and the thrill of capturing a king with an unexpected move. His eyes lit up with every detail, and I felt a flutter in my stomach as his gaze held mine, as if we were the only two people in the room.

Isaac couldn't resist the urge to stir the pot further. "So, Arthur," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, "are you going to challenge our shark-loving, chess prodigy to a match?"

The tension in the room thickened as Arthur's cheeks grew a deeper shade of pink. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. "Well, I wouldn't want to impose, but if Y/n is up for it, I'd be more than happy to have a friendly game."

Isaac couldn't contain his laughter. "Oh, come on, Arthur. You're practically drooling over the board at the thought of it."

I blushed, a little overwhelmed by Arthur's intense stare but also thrilled by the challenge. "I'd love to," I said, trying to sound casual despite the racing of my heart.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Well, it looks like we've got ourselves a date, folks. Arthur, you're on."

*****

The podcast went on, but the underlying tension between Arthur and I was unmistakable. Our shared passions had created a connection that neither of us had anticipated. The conversation shifted to other topics, but my mind kept wandering back to the thought of our upcoming chess match. Would it be a friendly game, or would the competition heat up?

Arthur's eyes met mine, and I felt a jolt of excitement. He was more than just a handsome face; he had a sharp intellect and a quirky charm that was hard to resist. As the podcast wound down, the nervousness I felt earlier had transformed into a thrilling anticipation of what lay ahead. His smile was disarming, and the way his hair fell over his forehead made my pulse quicken. I found myself trying to imagine what it would be like to sit across from him, each of us plotting our next move on the chessboard.

The podcast concluded with a flurry of thank yous and promises to keep in touch. After we signed off, Arthur turned to me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "So, when do you think we should have this chess showdown?"

I laughed, feeling the same thrill he did. "How about this weekend? We could meet up at a café in the city, somewhere with a decent table and a relaxed atmosphere."

He nodded eagerly. "Perfect. I know just the place. It's a little hidden gem, great for a quiet game and a cup of tea."

The days leading up to the weekend felt like an eternity. I found myself replaying our conversation in my head, analyzing every word, every smile, every gesture. It was more than just a chess game; it was a chance to get to know Arthur better, to explore the depths of his personality as we navigated the strategic dance of pawns and rooks.

When the day finally arrived, I walked into the café with a mix of excitement and nerves. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the soft murmur of chatter created a cozy backdrop for our battle of wits. Arthur was already there, setting up the board with meticulous care. He looked up as I approached, his smile warm and welcoming.

"You found it," he said, standing to greet me. He pulled out a chair, and as I sat down, I noticed the way his hand lingered on the back of mine for a brief moment. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same connection I did.

We began our game, the pieces moving with a rhythm that felt almost like a dance. Arthur's eyes never left the board, his focus unwavering as he considered each move. I watched his expressions shift, the intensity in his gaze as he tried to outthink me. His hands, strong and sure, caressed the pieces with a gentle touch that was surprisingly tender.

As the game progressed, the tension grew. We both knew we were evenly matched, and every move was a delicate balance of aggression and defense. The café around us faded away, and it was just us and the chessboard. Our conversation grew more personal as we shared stories from our childhoods, our families, and the moments that had shaped us into the people we were today.

When Arthur finally claimed victory, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. But as he leaned back in his chair and offered his hand for a congratulatory shake, the look in his eyes told me that the real prize was the connection we had formed over the last few hours.

"Rematch?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

I smiled, placing my hand in his. "Always."

*****

The crowd in the café applauded our game, and as we packed up the chessboard, I felt a new chapter in my life unfolding. Arthur and I had found common ground in the most unexpected of places, and I knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful friendship—or perhaps something more.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of chess games and shared moments. We discovered more about each other with every pawn that was sacrificed and every king that was checkmated. Our friendship grew stronger, and our bond deepened as we learned to read each other's moves both on and off the board.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the London skyline, casting a warm glow through the café windows, Arthur reached across the table and took my hand. His eyes searched mine, and I knew what was coming.

"Y/n," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I can't believe I've found someone who understands me like you do."

My heart raced as I looked into his eyes, feeling the same vulnerability he did. "I know," I whispered. "It's like we're two lost souls who found each other in the most unlikely of places."

He leaned in, and our lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold all the promise of the future. The chessboard was forgotten as we realized that sometimes, the most beautiful connections are found in the most unexpected places. Our love for sharks and chess had brought us together, but it was our shared passion for life and the quiet moments between the moves that would keep us together.

As we pulled apart, Arthur took a deep breath and smiled. "Ready for the next game?"

I grinned back at him, feeling more alive than I had in years. "Always."

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[unsolvedjarin]

omg after reading part two of the mentor!seb x ferrari driver!reader fic i NEED something where he actually tries to play matchmaker for reader and mick😭 Like him giving so many hints but reader is just oblivious and Seb decides to take matter into his own hands yk?

Only if you’re open to it ofc! 🥰🥰

BEES, AMONG OTHER THINGS.

pairing: (mick schumacher x driver! reader) (mentor! sebastian vettel x reader)

note: HEY. i havent written anything in weeks and its been KILLING me. ive been so burnt out lately its crazy, but seeing seb in suzuka did give me a bit of motivation (although this is more of a mick-centric fic, my boy deserves it.) anyways sorry for letting this stew for so long anon, hopefully i can write more soon ive missed it tbh

summary: suzuka finds itself not only an interesting spot for bee hotels, but for reunions and confrontations as well.

content warning: none, except its a little all over the place and once again i havent grammar checked this im so sorry it’s three in the morning

previous part, but can be read without <3

When Sebastian invited the grid to his bee hotel opening, he expected maybe five or six people to come, but not this.

Everyone was coming.

And by everyone, I mean everyone. The drivers, the reserves, even the team principals, had all confirmed their appearance for the event. Sebastian knew he was loved by the grid, but the thought of all of them coming together for him still made his heart swell.

It was one in the afternoon, just thirty minutes before they were about to actually start the event. While the participation of the drivers were confirmed, they were still coming in one by one, some later than the others. Sebastian was in a particularly interesting conversation with Fernando about flowers when a poke to his shoulder captured his attention.

He turned around to find you, standing there behind him, waiting for him to finish his conversation with excitement you couldn’t contain. It was the first time you’ve seen each other since Silverstone, and even then you barely had time to talk to each other.

Before he could say anything, you jumped into his arms and hugged him so tight that Sebastian thought he would lose oxygen— but he still hugged you back with equal enthusiasm.

“Sebastian!” you screamed, being spun around once by the man. He missed you so much. Sebastian wasn’t particularly the greatest texter, and calling wasn’t something you were fond of, so besides the occasional visit you barely talked.

“Y/N, I thought you’d never come,” he says with a grin. He knew you were coming, of course. You would never miss out on this. You give him a playful shove, before giving Fernando a quick hug as well. In the year Seb has been gone, you had gotten closer with the Aston Martin driver who replaced him.

Fernando excuses himself quickly after, knowing you and Sebastian had some catching up to do. “Don’t tell me you’ve replaced me with him,” Sebastian jokes the second the Spaniard was out of earshot.

“Why, are you jealous?” you teased. He scoffs in reply, but you could hear the hint of jealousy in his tone. “Don’t worry Seb, while I love his talk about flowers, you talking my ear off about bees still appeals to me more.”

That makes him smile.

“I’m glad you prefer my infodumping, then.”

The fact that you taught him that term makes your grin even wider. “Anytime.”

You wanted to talk with him more, to tell him how you’ve been doing the past few months, but before you could, some PR person swooped in to film some videos with him.

“Ah, sorry liebling,” Sebastian sighs. He leans in and whispers in your ear, “One thing I haven’t missed are these media hungry people.”

You stifle a giggle, before nudging him away from you. “Go on, it’s your event, this is your own doing.”

He rolls his eyes but walks away nonetheless, following the person from the media. Before he moves out of earshot, however, he shouts, “Oh by the way, Mick is here! Don’t be shy, go talk to him.”

Oh the bastard.

Half the grid must have heard that. You look at him with shock and a light blush on your cheeks but are met only with a cheeky grin from the man before he turns around to fully walk away.

Admittedly though, he was right. You hadn’t been talking to Mick much. You had a few lunches with him after Seb retired but without his third wheeling company, it just felt awkward to go out with the reserve driver one on one. You started thinking he just ate with you because he felt bad for you or something of the sort.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice snaps you out of your thinking.

“Jesus! Lewis, don’t give me a heart attack like that.”

The Mercedes driver laughs before replying, “Sorry, you just looked tense. Thinking about the race?”

“Not really, just some other stuff.”

“Like what? Like Mick?”

You almost choked on your own saliva right there and then. “Wh- what? What would— haha— make you think that? No that’s crazy, I’m just thinking about the bees! Yeah, because like the bee hotel and stuff I love b—”

“Sebastian wasn’t really quiet talking to you just then, you know.” He comments, cutting you off.

“Oh I’ll kill him.”

“Doubt it, you’ve missed him too much these past months to kill him immediately.”

“Touché, maybe I’ll wait a few more then.”

“Stop avoiding the question, why’re you thinking about Mick?” Lewis asks, not giving the topic up. Oh what the hell, Sebastian trusts him right? So you could trust him.

Thinking of how you could word your thoughts properly, you start, “I kinda— I dunno— I mean he’s a nice guy, he’s pretty sweet, and we’re friends obviously so it’d be—”

“You like him don’t you.” Lewis cuts you off for the second time in a row.

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he sighs, letting it linger for a moment. “That’s crazy.”

A beat of silence passes. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

“Say anything else about what?” Sebastian butts in your conversation, clearly just having finished his short interview. He takes his place beside you, scooching in between you and Lewis instead of taking up the free space on the other side.

“Oh, Y/N was just talking about how she likes Mick.”

“Was not!” You exclaim.

“Was too,” Lewis retorts. His teasing never ceased to amuse and annoy you at the same time.

“I think I’m going to believe Lewis on this one. After all, you did tell me, and I quote, you ‘sorta have a little maybe crush’ on Mick.”

You hang your mouth agape incredulously before slapping Seb on the arm, “I told you that in confidence!”

Seb laughs before defending himself, “Well Lewis knows now! Besides, it’s not like you’ve been that discrete about it.”

You look at Lewis who shrugs in reply, “It’s true. Pretty obvious when a Ferrari driver keeps hanging around the Mercedes garage, mate.”

Oh well, cat’s out of the bag. There’s no point in keeping it secret from Lewis now, you think. Putting your head in your hands, you groan, “That’s the problem! I’m always at the Mercedes garage talking to you or Toto or even George but never him!”

“Well why don’t you…talk to him?”

“Great advice Sherlock, gee, got any more good ones for me?” You ask Sebastian sarcastically. While you and Seb banter though, Lewis recalls a conversation he had with Mick one late night back in Singapore.

“Hey Lew, was Y/N here earlier?”

Lewis, who was packing up to go home, redirects his focus to the only remaining guy in the garage save for a few engineers. “Yeah, she visited right after the race to congratulate me. Why’re you looking for her?”

“Oh nothing, just asking.” Mick replies, fiddling with his hands. Even in his tired state, Lewis could tell that there was more the young driver wasn’t saying.

“C’mon, spit it out.” Lewis says, taking a seat on a random chair and patting the one beside him for Mick to take a seat. The younger driver hesitates for a moment before sighing and sitting down. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than anyone. Do you know what happened when Alonso crashed his McLaren back in 2015?”

“No, what?”

“Exactly,” Lewis replies with a grin. “So what is it?”

“I…” Mick sighs, unable to find the right words for what he was trying to say. “I think I like Y/N.”

There, it’s out in the open, he thinks. Mick waits for a reply from Lewis, but gets none. “Hello?”

Another beat of silence.

“Okay, this is starting to scare me.”

Lewis finally snaps out of his trance-like state, before getting up and continuing to pack up his things. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“Well I thought it’d be something more secretive,” he says, putting up bunny ears.

“It is secretive,” Mick replies, mocking Lewis’ bunny ears. “No one knows.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that mate. I mean if you exclude Sebastian, Fernando, Toto, and myself, then sure, no one knows.”

Oh shit. Was he that obvious? “How- how did you all figure it out?”

“Well for one, if constantly tailing Sebastian and Y/N last year was your attempt at being discreet, then it was a horrible attempt. Second, you need to stop turning red and running away whenever she’s at the garage giving out food and what not. I can’t keep asking her for extra donuts for you forever, you know?”

Mick blushed slightly at the comment, not realizing how every time you came around to the garage he’d been unwillingly avoiding you out of fear you wouldn’t want to talk to him.

Lewis pats Mick on the back, getting ready to leave. “Listen man, if I were you, I’d make a move. That opportunity won’t last forever, plus, it seems like they like you back. Didn’t you guys go out together just the two of you a couple of times?”

Mick shrugged, “I don’t know, I mean I think she did that just because she felt bad for me being alone in the grid and because she missed Sebastian.”

Lewis internally rolled his eyes. He’s seen the way you look at Mick, there’s no way you didn’t like him too. “You have to stop doubting yourself. I mean the worst she can do is say no, right?”

“The worst she can do is avoid me for the rest of my life because I misread all the signs and she actually hates me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lewis replied sarcastically, before murmuring a goodbye and leaving the garage.

That was weeks ago now, but the conversation was still stuck in Lewis’ head. He’d been right all along, you did like Mick back.

“Hey Seb, can I talk to you in private really quickly?” He speaks up, making you and the retired driver stop your bantering for a moment.

“You can say it in front of Y/N, it’s fine.” Seb replied. He trusted you completely with anything and everything.

“Well not if it’s about her.”

“Hey!” you complain. “Are you openly gossiping about me?”

“Listen, if you want our help, then let us huddle for a minute.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and nod at them. You really really liked Mick, but you were too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So if these two old twats could help you, then so be it.

Lewis pulls Seb to the side for a moment, inhaling deeply before talking softly so you couldn’t hear. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Mick told me he likes Y/N.”

Sebastian whips his head to face Lewis, “Holy shit, I knew it. I knew he wasn’t going out with us all the time last year for no reason.”

“Yeah, he’s not so discreet. Here’s the problem though, he firmly believes Y/N may hate him, and you know that Y/N believes Mick only likes her as a friend.”

“So what you’re saying is they’re both hopeless?”

“Without our help, basically yes.”

“God I can’t believe they haven’t caught a clue,” Sebastian sighs. “I even excused myself from multiple meals so I could leave the two of them alone even for a few minutes.”

“You’re telling me mate, I basically had to shove Mick towards her whenever she was at the garage or in hospitality.”

Meanwhile, while the two men were devising on their own, you were getting antsy. What could they possibly be coming up with? You didn’t really want to think about it too much, so you decided to take a walk around the track. After all, the event was about to start, so you might as well familiarize yourself with your surroundings.

You went through the unpainted bee hotels, admiring their woodwork and the effort it must’ve taken to make them. Sebastian had sent you a text at three in the morning yesterday saying “Finished! :-)” with a picture of the bee hotels attached, so you knew he put hard work into this project. You were happy that he was doing something he loved while retired, but at the same time you missed him terribly on the grid. It was lonely, you will admit, without him by your side. Sure you had your teammate Charles and the support of your fellow drivers, but it never felt like anyone truly knew you on the track besides Seb.

Stuck in your thoughts, you failed to notice the man who was walking up behind you mustering the courage to strike a conversation. You turn around to check out another bee hotel when you bump straight into Mick walking up to you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Ow—” you hold your head in pain, which you bumped into the bee hotel roof when you recoiled backwards from the hit. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Great, Mick thought. Now what?

You’ve made a fool of yourself, congratulations, you thought.

Sebastian was about to walk over to see what all the commotion was about, when Lewis put a hand out and stopped him. “Look who bumped into her.”

Sebastian squinted a little— his eyesight had gotten worse but he refused to get glasses— and grins when he realizes who it is. “Best leave them to it then, I have an event to organize anyways.”

Meanwhile, Mick had no clue what to do. You were holding your head in pain, with your eyes closed trying to regain stability from the dizziness, and he was just standing there awkwardly trying to figure out what the right move was. Should he ask you again if you were alright? Should he hold you to stabilize you?

Well, why not both. Without thinking, he holds your shoulders, crouching down a little to look you in your eye, and asking a simple “You okay?”

You open your eyes, squinting because of the sun, and are met with a set of beautiful blue ones staring at you. Holy fucking shit. Now you don't know what to do.

“Uh— yeah, just hit my head. No biggie honestly, all good here,” you reply awkwardly. God, was it this hard to talk to him when Sebastian was around?

Mick lets go of your shoulders— you miss his touch already— and straightens up, nodding. “Good. Sorry for hitting you, I thought you heard me walking up.”

“No, it’s my fault honestly. Was stuck in my own thoughts. Nice that you pulled me out,” you joked, praying to whatever higher power was listening that it stuck.

Thankfully it did, and Mick let out a small giggle at your quip. It was enough for your stomach to do flips. And even though you had no clue, you joking around with him made his stomach do the same thing too. The simple interaction was enough to make him think that maybe you weren’t just hanging around with him before because you pitied him.

“You know,” Mick starts, before he loses confidence to breach the topic. He was here anyway, so might as well. “You’re always at the Mercedes garage but I never see you. I am sorry about that.”

You raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. Why was he sorry? You were the one who avoided him out of nervousness whenever you were there.

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, honestly, that’s my fault anyway. Same with our lunches before, I’m sorry we did those less and less. I guess I got too caught up in the races. We should have another one here in Japan!” You add the last part haphazardly, not really thinking about what you’re saying because if you do you’ll lose confidence.

It was too late when you realized what you said, and terrified to see Mick’s reaction to the invitation, you stare at anything but him. Wow, the sky was blue today. How interesting.

Mick, on the other hand, was frozen on the spot. Did he hear that correctly? Were you inviting him to lunch for the first time in months?

Before the reserve driver could get his hopes up, however, he realized what was different this time. Sebastian was around.

Oh. Maybe that was the only reason you invited him this time around. Because, again, like before, you felt sorry for him being alone and you had the confidence to ask him because Sebastian was here.

“Would…Sebastian be coming?” He asked. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he begged God at that moment you would say no. He had nothing against the retired driver of course, he was like an uncle to him, but it would determine— for him at least— if you were going out with him out of pity or because you actually wanted to.

You, on the other hand, had a completely different interpretation of that question.

Did Mick not want to have lunch with you without Sebastian because he didn’t want to spend time with you? Did he feel like you were too awkward? Too weird? You stopped yourself before you could spiral even more.

“I mean, do you want him to?”

“Honestly? No.” Mick hears himself say without thinking. His eyes widened a bit at the fact that he said that aloud, making you giggle. It lifts the tension a bit and the air feels freer talking to him.

“Tsk tsk, I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Please don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it. I just meant—” Mick pauses for a second, finding it difficult to word his thoughts.

Oh fuck it. Fuck it all. “I want it to be you, just you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh.” Before Mick can regret saying anything and repeatedly apologize for the implications of what he said, you tug on his shirt a little to get him to look at you. “Me too.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, laughing a bit at himself. “Thank god, I thought I made the wrong move there.”

“God no,” you laugh out. “I’m glad you said that honestly, I thought you just hung out with me before for Sebastian.”

Mick raised his eyebrows in confusion. Was that what you’d been thinking this whole time? “I thought you were just hanging out with me because you felt bad I was alone without Seb.”

This time you both look at each other, confused. You had both gotten it completely wrong.

The absurdity of it all makes you burst out laughing, and you try to cover it up with your hand but to no avail. “I’m sorry I just— ha!— I can’t believe I’ve been reading it wrong this whole time! I even avoided you in the garages because I thought you felt awkward around me.”

“I hid whenever you were at the garage because I thought you didn’t wanna talk to me,” Mick replied bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “In hindsight, that was pretty stupid, I suppose I wouldn’t ever know if you liked talking to me or not if I kept avoiding you.”

“Hold on, is that why Lewis always asked for extra food when I came around?”

“Yeah,” he answered, feeling embarrassed. It all felt so foolish now.

“That was stupid,” you tease. “So…what now?”

“I suppose we can just,” Mick gestures aimlessly with his hands. “Restart.”

You smile at him, liking the simplicity of the idea. After dancing around each other for a year, this is exactly what you wanted. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“What you were saying earlier, lunch? I know a good place. It’s pretty far from the track, but they have the best ramen and— hello Seb…?”

Unbeknownst to you, Sebastian had slowly inched himself closer to where you two were standing, trying to overhear your conversation. He was now stood a few meters away from you, pretending to be taking care of his bee hotel.

“You sneaky bastard!” you exclaim, slapping him on his shoulder for the second time that day. “How long have you been eavesdropping on our conversation?”

“I just got here!” Sebastian replied, trying to defend himself. He’d actually been standing there for a couple minutes, but if none of you had noticed, then it was better for him to not bring it up. “Anyway, I came to say we’re starting the event. Charles is looking for you at the Ferrari station, Y/N.”

Sebastian moves to leave, but turns back around, standing beside you. “And Mick, if it’s no bother, you could come with me and Y/N to Disneyland on Tuesday. Only if you’d like, of course.”

“We’re going to Disneyland?” You ask, but a quick glance at Sebastian's expression and you realize what he was trying to do. “Oh! Yeah, we totally planned on going to Disneyland. You should come with us.”

“Yeah! Sure, I have nothing to do anyways. And lunch on Monday, Y/N?” Mick replies. You give him a soft smile and nod in response.

Seb looks at you in confusion, “Am I part of these lunch plans?”

“No.”

“Great to know. Anyways, to the Ferrari station liebe, chop chop,” Seb retorts, putting his arm around you to pull you towards the station. As much as he wanted you and Mick to talk more, he also wanted his event to get going.

“Talk later!” you shout, being practically dragged by Sebastian. Mick laughs at the sight, waving a goodbye to you and the retired driver. He felt like he won the lottery. You might not like him the way he liked you, but this was a start. This meant that you hung around him for him.

“Was the plan you and Lewis came up with simply inviting Mick to go to Disneyland?” You ask, the second you were far away enough from Mick.

Sebastian shrugs, “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh you pricks. Thank God I didn’t rely on you two then.”

“Hey! We tried,” Seb remarked. “But we saw you two getting along without our help so we decided to leave you two to it. What did you even talk about?”

“Our shared hatred for you,” you replied with no hesitation. You look over at Sebastian with a grin, watching him roll his eyes, smiling.

“Well if that’s what it took for you two to talk, then I’d happily be the butt of your conversations.”

God. Why did he have to be so nice about it? “I’m just kidding Seb, we just cleared up some misunderstandings. Honestly we should’ve talked sooner, it was such a relief to find out I’d just been overthinking our interactions.”

“Like you do with half of all things, schatz,” Sebastian says softly, smiling at you. He was right, you did overthink too much.

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m trying to change.”

“That’s great, but you know what you should try first before that?” Seb asks with a playful look on his face. He comes to a stop in front of a bee hotel and grabs a paintbrush from beside it, putting it in your hands. “You should try participating in the event.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you mutter, grinning. You didn’t even notice you had walked all the way to the Ferrari station until then. You greet Charles, who was already there, before facing Sebastian again. “Still can’t believe you and Lewis’ plan was just Disneyland. Remind me to never trust you ever again.”

“Love you too,” Seb retorts sarcastically, grinning as he walks away to assist the other drivers. You shake your head with a smile, before facing the bee hotel again. Cheeky bastard.

Sebastian and Lewis had planned more than just Disneyland of course, they weren’t stupid. But the first phase of their plan was complete. Sebastian smiled to himself as he watched Mick talking to Lewis at the Mercedes station, ready to operate the second part of their ‘genius’ plan.

It was going to be a long, interesting week for all of them.

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 2: None the Wiser

series masterlist

You navigate your motorcycle down a quiet suburban street, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon.

The houses lining the street all have a sense of tranquility about them, each one seemingly occupied by a picture-perfect family.

Eventually, you come to the correct address, the number nailed to the mailbox in front of the home. You kill the engine of your motorcycle, the silence that envelopes you as it dies almost soothing.

A frown tugs at your lips as you remove your helmet, your fingers running idly through your hair.

The sight of the house Lorraine calls home surprises you, the image of the "American Dream" lifestyle seeming at odds with the person you knew her to be. The white picket fence, meticulously kept lawn, and cozy abode all seem too perfect, too generic.

But then again, five years can change a lot.

You kick down the kickstand, the sound of the metal connecting with the concrete almost too loud in the still air. You swing your leg over and slip off the bike, the metal still warm from the overbearing sun of the afternoon.

With your helmet still in your hand, you nervously fidget with it, the metal of the strap cool against your fingers.

Taking a deep breath, then hooking your helmet on your handlebar, you approach the fence surrounding the home with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

You reach the gate, its white paint unblemished and gleaming beneath the fading sunlight. Hesitantly, you grip the latch and pushes open the gate, the hinges creaking slightly. You carefully step through just as a shrill caw cuts through the air, boots thumping against the manicured lawn.

The house stands in front of you, its pristine exterior almost unnaturally perfect. The windows sparkle, the white paint of the siding gleams, and there's a manicured rosebush that borders the front walkway that has been neatly trimmed into a small ball. A stone walkway leads to the front door, its brass knocker polished and gleaming.

You raise your fist, ready to knock, when a sense of wrongness suddenly washes over you. Something about this house doesn’t sit right with you, though you can’t quite place your finger on what it is.

Just as you’re about to shake off the feeling and knock, the door suddenly swings open.

Your brain processes the sight in front of you in an instant. The perfectly styled blonde hair, the picture-perfect smile, the air of false politeness.

Oh, no now this makes more sense.

You feel none the wiser with exactly who would greet you at the door, and you should’ve known better than to think this was Lorraine’s residency.

Bobby-Lynn, prior captain of the cheer squad back when you were all in high school, stands before you. Her blue eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

You barely manage to mutter a disbelieving "you've gotta be fucking kidding me" before she envelopes you in a fierce hug.

The scent of her perfume fills your nostrils, the sickly-sweet scent almost suffocating. You stand there awkwardly, your arms remaining stiff at your sides as she grips you tightly.

“Oh my gosh! Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Lorraine said you were comin’ but to be honest, I didn’t believe her-“

Lorraine? Oh. Oh, that little shit. She’s got some explaining to do.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally releases you, her perfectly manicured hands remaining on your arms as she steps back, her smile still plastered on her face. "I haven't seen you in years!" she exclaims, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm.

You forcing a smile, the gesture feeling more like a grimace than anything else. You take a step back, putting distance between yourself and her sticky sweetness. With a bluntness that masks your discomfort, you reply, "that was sorta the point”.

Her smile falters for a brief moment, not expecting your blunt response. Her gaze flickers for a moment, her eyes studying you closely, before that false smile returns, wider than before. "You never change, do you?" she quips, her voice dripping with artificial affection.

You ignore her question, the memories of high school and her presence causing your stomach to twist with unease. You glance over her shoulder, scanning the interior of the tidy living room for any sign of Lorraine. "Is Lorraine here or not?" you ask, your tone bordering on curt.

Bobby-Lynn’s false smile dips once more, but she quickly recovers, maintaining her sweet demeanor. "She’s in the kitchen, helping cook dinner as usual," she replies, her voice annoyingly cheerful.

You can’t help but make a face, your thoughts racing as you prepare to ask about Lorraine. You're about to speak, but before you can even ask, she links her arm through yours, the action nearly making you stumble.

“A lot has changed since high school, Rooks. Wipe that look off your face,” she says with a faux-chiding tone, her voice grating on your nerves.

You find yourself being pulled into the house, the door shutting behind you with an ominous finality. You cast a glance over your shoulder at the closed door, a frown tugging at your lips.

But before you can dwell on it, Bobby-Lynn guides you into the living room, her arm still linked through yours. As you look around, the space feels more like a lion's den than a comfortable living area. Every inch is meticulously arranged, the decor designed for maximum aesthetic appeal, yet everything feels cold and sterile.

Before you can even process your surroundings, the sight of Jackson — the once-star quarterback and now serving your country last you’d heard — standing to greet you catches you off guard.

His broad frame stands tall, his face a bit more weathered than when you last saw him in high school. But his greeting is what's most surprising, his face lit with an enthusiasm you've never witnessed him direct at you before.

“Rooks! You came!”

Jackson steps forward, his arms outstretched, and pulls you into a firm hug. You can smell a hint of his aftershave as he clasps you tightly, his broad chest pressing against yours. He pulls back slightly just as you register what’s going on, his hands remaining on your shoulders, and offers his condolences for your Pop.

"I'm real sorry for your loss," he says, his voice sincere as he gives your back a firm pat, your frame going rigid under his touch “best goddamn Mayor this town ever had”.

You remain still, your body taut as a bowstring, the forced embrace and pat on the back causing your skin to prickle with discomfort. You offer a nod of acknowledgment, but your expression remains stoic beneath his gaze.

Just as Jackson releases you fully, another voice intercedes, a familiar tone that causes your stomach to sink further. "Is that Rooks? Well, I'll be goddamn," the voice echoes, their tone filled with a mixture of surprise and a hint of mockery.

You turn, eyes landing on the source of the voice, and nearly laugh aloud at the sight of the man who stands before you. It's Wayne, his familiar face now sporting a hint of stubble and a few new lines around his eyes. But it's the woman who stands behind him that shocks you even more—Maxine, her red hair still as vibrant as your memories serve you.

Wayne continues speaking, his smooth voice layered with sarcasm and wit. "Well, look who decided to grace us with their presence again. Rooks, back from the dead. Never thought I'd see the day," he quips, a smirk on his lips.

Meanwhile, Maxine stands silently beside him, her gaze fixed on you. Her eyes study you intently, that vixen look you remember from high school still present beneath her lashes.

Bobby-Lynn's voice cuts in, admonishing Wayne. "Wayne, that's not funny. The poor thing’s Pop just passed. Show some respect," she says, her words laced with a hint of irritation.

Wayne's smirk falters slightly, and he offers a half-hearted apology, "sorry, Rooks. Didn’t mean to ruffle feathers”.

Your irritation mounts at Wayne's sly remark, and you respond curtly, your eyes narrowing.

"Clever," you mutter dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. The sound of them using your old nickname only further adds to your annoyance.

You’ve never been fond of it, the name representing a part of your past you've been trying to leave behind.

Which gets brought to attention as Wayne sidles up to you, slinging his arm around your shoulders with a familiarity that sets your teeth on edge. He grins as he says, "I gotta ask, do you still see ‘em? Or did you finally grow out of that?"

His words sting, reminding you of the countless times he teased and belittle you for your ‘hallucinations’ way back when. A part of you wants to shrug off his arm, but you remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

You push past your discomfort, your words filled with bitterness and sharp with anger. "I haven't been 'seeing things,' Wayne. That was just your and everyone else's bullshit way of making my life a living hell" you snap, your voice dripping with venom.

His arm drops from your shoulders as you step away, creating distance between you and the unwelcome touch.

Wayne raises his hands in a mock surrender, a smirk still on his lips “whoa, relax, Rooks. I was just messing around," he says, his voice dripping with false innocence. His apology is insincere, the sarcastic tone he uses making it clear he hasn't changed one bit.

Just as you're about to lose your temper, the front door opens and Lorraine appears from around the corner, her presence making you feel even more on edge.

Your eyes flicker to Bobby-Lynn, a sense of betrayal washing over you as you realize she lied to you. You shoot her an accusatory look, your expression giving away your anger.

Lorraine steps into the room, her sweet and timid demeanor immediately defusing the tension in the air. Her voice echoes through the room, asking with gentle concern, "everythin’ alright?"

The sound of her voice instantly has a calming effect on you, even though you're still seething on the inside.

Maxine, whose gaze has been studying you almost hungrily, finally pipes in, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Oh, we was just catchin’ up," she says, her gaze unabashedly raking over your form.

Yeah, definitely still the same manipulative snake she was in high school.

You turn your gaze to Lorraine, preparing to ask her about why she made you come here, only for your words to die in your throat as you spot another familiar figure behind her. Your heart drops as you recognize the face of the man you thought would rather be caught dead than be around this crowd.

It's RJ, a scrawny band geek from high school. He was the epitome of ‘weird’ back then, always lingering on the outskirts of social groups. Oddly enough, he stands right behind Lorraine now, his presence here seeming completely out of place.

As your eyes roam over his figure, the last person you would've expected to see in this gathering, you can't help but feel a mix of surprise and old memories resurfacing. After all, you were just as much a ‘freak’ to everyone in the room at one point in time.

The sudden appearance of RJ toting up and showing off two bottles of wine awkwardly, stuns you into silence, your mind struggling to catch up with the unfolding situation. Everyone else, seemingly used to RJ's odd behavior, voices their approval with enthusiasm.

Everyone except Lorraine, who remains unnervingly silent, observing you intently as her eyes studying your every reaction.

You're still trying to wrap your head around RJ's appearance at this gathering when Wayne pipes up from beside you, putting his hand on your shoulder once again, this time his touch slightly less mocking. He speaks with a more sincere tone, his voice lacking the previous sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, Rooks. I was just tryna cut the tension a bit. I didn't mean to come off so harsh," he offers apologetically, his eyes locking onto yours.

You take a moment, trying to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling in your mind. As you stand there, RJ leads the others with a surprising confidence into the kitchen, leaving you feeling lost in a sea of unexpected emotions.

You remain frozen, your mind struggling to process the flood of emotions coursing through you. Wayne's hand drops from your shoulder as he follows the rest of the group into the kitchen, leaving you standing alone in the living room.

Too much. Too much. Where do you even start?

Lorraine silently approaches, her gentle presence having an unexpected calming effect on your tumultuous emotions. She looks at you intently, observing your expression and demeanor with a careful eye. For a brief moment, the two of you simply stand there, the silence filling the air as she waits for you to speak.

Your voice is tight, almost strained, as you whisper to Lorraine, "are you fucking kidding me? Them? Of all people?" Your body is tense, your chest feeling like a coiled spring as you take in the situation at hand.

The sight of all those who tormented you both from your past all gathered in one place, is overwhelming, and you're struggling to keep your composure.

Lorraine's voice is soft and earnest as she whispers to you, her gaze never leaving yours. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, her tone conveying a sense of understanding. "I know it must be overwhelming seeing them all here, but they've changed. You'll see”.

Her words cause a ripple of uncertainty to cross your features, but she adds a final thought, her tone gentle “you need people right now, and you wouldn't have agreed otherwise."

You clench your jaw, struggling to keep your emotions in check. A mixture of anger and disbelief washes over you as you glance towards the kitchen, where the sounds of boisterous laughter and conversation fill the air.

It's almost surreal to think that these people, who use to verbally crucify you on the daily, are now considered Lorraine's friends. Your anger and frustration bubble just beneath the surface, a bitter taste settling in your mouth.

Lorraine's gentle voice breaks through your thoughts, her soft "hey" drawing your attention back to her. Her eyes, wide and innocent, bring an unexpected sense of reassurance, grounding you for a moment.

"I'd never lead you astray," she says, her words filled with conviction. Looking into her earnest eyes, you can't help but believe her.

Your heart is racing, torn between anger, disbelief, and the unexpected comfort Lorraine manages to bring. You stand there, feeling the inner turmoil that threatens to spill over.

As Lorraine walks past you, her eyes never leaving yours until the last second, she offers a knowing look, as if she understands the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

With that, she continues on towards the kitchen, joining the others, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stand there for a moment, undecided. This is the point where you'd normally leave, walking away from the people who caused you so much pain. You don't owe them anything, including Lorraine.

The words echo in your mind as you think about the decision you're facing. Why on earth would you stay in this situation, surrounded by people who had made your life miserable in the past? But then you think of her.

It's Lorraine, for Christ sake.

She has never been anything but kind and true to you. She's the only one you consider anywhere close to a friend, the only one you could ever… is trust the right word?

You feel a strange pull, as if some invisible force is urging you to stay, to give it a chance. Your mind races, trying to evaluate the situation and reason with yourself. Despite your reservations, you can't help but wonder — what exactly do you have to lose?

You take a deep breath, running your tongue along your teeth and clicking it against the roof of your mouth. You shake your head, sighing in frustration.

But Lorraine's words echo in your head, and as much as you hate to admit it, you can't deny that you do need people right now.

You may have despised your Pop, but he was still your father. Besides, it’s either this or return to that goddamn house of horrors.

With a clenched jaw and stiff movements, you slowly pivot on your heels, forcing yourself to move forward towards the kitchen.

Your reluctance and trepidation are evident in every step, but you push yourself onward, accepting the reality of your situation.

As you get closer to the kitchen, laughter and chatter grow louder in your ears, and you mentally brace yourself for what lies ahead.

You must be out of your goddamn mind, that has to be the explanation. This town, this fucking town.

Internally, you pray this won’t be a mistake.

____________________________________________

Over the past two hours, you've silently observed and taken mental notes on this odd group of friends, your inner investigator at work. You've noticed the subtle changes in their personalities, the unexpected friendships, and the hints of something lurking beneath the surface.

It's clear that time and circumstances have altered these people, and they're not the same ones you remember from high school.

But then again, they are. It’s strange.

Through your observations, you've noticed that Bobby-Lynn and Jackson are a couple, which isn't surprising given their past. However, the revelation that Wayne and Maxine are together comes as a surprise.

But what truly shocks you is the revelation that RJ and Lorraine are a couple now. You never saw that one coming.

You've noticed how RJ tries so hard, but it seems like an uphill battle. His overzealous and awkward enthusiasm clashes with Lorraine's quiet and soft-spoken nature. It's like watching a fish and a bird try to dance together, it just doesn't quite fit.

You observe the group from the sidelines, sipping on the same half-filled glass of red wine you've been nursing for what feels like days, always the outsider looking in.

Your eyes roam over the scene in front of you — the raucous laughter and the growing tipsiness of your old classmates. The familiar feeling of being the quiet onlooker takes hold, keeping you firmly on the fringes.

While observing the group, you’ve noticed the subtle glances exchanged between Bobby-Lynn and Maxine, each silently communicating something unknown.

It disturbs you, how its sole focus seems to consistently shift to Lorraine, who has also been sipping the same glass of wine since the first bottle was opened. There's a strange energy in the air between all three women, and you almost want to assume there's something deeper going on beneath the surface.

You don’t trust Maxine nor Bobby-Lynn as far as you could throw them, and that’s not saying much considering you don’t even trust them at arms length.

Lorraine's fingers toy with the stem of her glass, her eyes darting between Bobby-Lynn and Maxine. The air is thick with something, and you can almost feel the undercurrents of unspoken words that linger in the air.

The way Lorraine glances back and forth between the two women, her gaze never quite settling, leaves you with a sense of unease. There's something going on here, but you can't quite figure out what it is.

You’ve also been observing RJ's behavior with Lorraine; he's being more touchy than necessary, and every time Lorraine responds with a forced smile, one you recognize as her plastering on a facade.

It makes you uncomfortable, you don’t like it.

Suddenly, your eyes inadvertently meet hers, gazes locking for a moment almost as if she’s finally begun to feel the weight of your attention.

You quickly look away, feeling like you've stumbled into something you weren't supposed to see, something more complicated and strained than it should be.

You find yourself looking back at Lorraine, your eyes drawn to her against your will, like a magnet pull. To your surprise, she's still looking at you.

When your eyes meet, she shakes her head subtly. A clear message telling you to drop it, then looks away herself. But for some reason, you can't seem to break the magnetic pull, your gaze remaining locked on her for a moment longer than it should.

You mindlessly fidget with the stem of your wine glass, your eyes darting around the room. Finally, they land on Maxine, who is watching you with a calculating gaze.

As soon as your eyes meet hers, she takes a sip from her own glass, her knowing look making you feel like she can read your thoughts. You quickly look away, trying to seem casual, as conversation continues around you.

You excuse yourself, citing the need to use the bathroom. Bobby-Lynn motions down the hall, informing you where it’s located before leaning back against Jackson, who’s engaged in a boisterous banter with Wayne.

You refuse to look at Lorraine and RJ, avoiding the sight of his possessive hold on her. You tell yourself that it’s their business, not yours, and yet the fact that it’s continuing to bother you makes you angrier than ever.

It’s maddening, this irrational sense of anger and protectiveness towards Lorraine, over a relationship that should mean nothing to you.

As you make your way down the hallway, you involuntarily stop just short of passing a bedroom. A strange feeling, almost like a tug on your awareness, makes you pause, as if something is drawing your attention.

Something about the room beyond the half-open door tugs at the back of your mind, an ominous undercurrent that raises the hairs on your arms. You stand there, staring at the door, feeling an intense sense of unease. Your heart races, the air almost heavy with a feeling of foreboding.

Something feels amiss, something that fills you with a sense of impending danger or revelation. Every instinct screams at you to turn away and keep walking, but you can’t, your feet rooted to the spot.

Against your own better judgment, you find yourself moving towards the room like a puppet on strings, your body acting on its own accord despite your logical mind protesting.

This unnerving sensation, the feeling of being tugged by something other than your own volition, is becoming a disturbingly familiar occurrence for you more and more these days.

You slowly step inside the dimly lit room, your eyes darting around the surroundings. There's a faint hint of burning sage in the air, mixed with the scent of herbs. As you tentatively walk around, your gaze lands on a small, worn velvet pouch resting on the bedside table.

It looks innocuous, but there's something about it that catches your attention. You walk over to it, almost in a trance, and pick it up. Feeling the weight of the contents shifting around inside.

Your eyes flit towards the open door, a brief moment of indecision passing over your face. Every instinct tells you that you shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s wrong, but your curiosity and strange compulsion propel you forward. With a sense of both trepidation and determination, you ignore the nagging guilt and pour the content of the pouch out and into your free hand.

As the contents of the pouch spill out into your palm, you're taken aback for a moment.

The first thing you notice are several strands of hair, clearly someone's locks collected and tied together with a thin strip of leather.

Then there's a collection of small bones, which range in size and shape, some from small animals and some human-looking, like phalanges. There are also a few dried and crushed herbs mixed in, the unmistakable scent of sage among them.

Your eyebrows furrow and your mind whirls, searching for a reasonable explanation.

What on earth would snooty, picture-perfect Bobby-Lynn have an assortment of witchcraft material on her nightstand for?

It doesn’t make sense, it all clashes with the image you have of her in your mind. Sure, she’s a snobby bitch, but this?

You hastily put the components back into the velvet pouch, taking care to place it back exactly as you had found it.

Your mind is a tangle of thoughts and conclusions, but you shake your head, refusing to let your thoughts jump to conclusions based on such limited evidence.

You take a deep breath and exit the room, cracking the door just a hair behind you, being mindful to leave everything as undisturbed as possible.

Yeah, no, fuck this. Time to go.

You feign nonchalance, forcing a yawn as you reenter the room. Upon rejoining them, you quickly offer up an excuse to leave, "I think I'm gonna head out," you announce, avoiding eye contact with no one in particular.

Liar.

The protests come all at once, a chorus of voices blending together as everyone tries to persuade you to stay. Amidst it all, the sound of RJ’s drunken voice stands out, loud and slurred. Your gaze drifts to Lorraine, who looks obviously disappointed.

Your better judgment tells you to stay silent and mind your own business, but you find yourself gesturing towards RJ and locking eyes with Lorraine. In a soft but resolute tone, you ask her, "did he drive you here?"

RJ, already a bit disheveled, attempts to defend himself, but he’s clearly inebriated. "I’m not that drunk-" he slurs, attempting to justify himself.

However, you cut him off and shut him down. "You're not driving anywhere tonight," you say resolutely, your tone brooking no argument.

A tension fills the air as Lorraine begins to speak, her voice soft and resigned. "It's fine, I'll drive us home," she says, attempting to brush off the situation.

It’s logical, because she’s a grown woman who can handle herself. Yet, it doesn’t sit right with you, the image of her driving home with a clearly intoxicated RJ in tow sends a jolt of unease through you.

You can’t help but blurt out a reason why it’s a bad idea, your concern for Lorraine’s safety overriding your usual reserve. "That’s not a good idea," you say, your voice firm “RJ’s in no condition to be a reasonable passenger, considering how he can’t keep his fucking hands to himself. It’s not safe for either of you or the people on the road”.

Your own outburst catches you off guard, and a wave of embarrassment should wash over you. But you find yourself surprisingly unbothered, too invested in the situation at hand to care about your lack of filter. The room goes silent as everyone looks at you, a bit taken aback by your vehemence.

Maxine mutters under her breath, just barely loud enough for you to hear, "loose cannon”.

Bobby-Lynn gives her a disapproving shush, which only has her roll her eyes. Wayne then speaks up, a sensible solution in his voice, "hows about I drive RJ home? It's on my way anyhow”.

The tension in the room rises as RJ puffs up his chest in protest, his inebriated state making him more volatile. But before even he can respond, Lorraine steps away from him and starts gathering her belongings with a steady and firm resolve.

RJ, still puffed up and tipsy, begins to ask "what are you—“ only for Lorraine to cut him off with a firm "stop, don’t even with me right now."

Her gaze then flicks to you, her expression unreadable, almost guarded. Without another word, she swiftly exits the kitchen, shaking her head in what appears to be frustration or disappointment.

RJ, still agitated, tries to follow Lorraine — shouting her name in anger. However, your actions are almost instinctively protective. You step in his path, creating a barrier between him and Lorraine as she exits the kitchen.

In his inebriated state, RJ becomes brutally honest, spitting the words in your face as he says "you don't get to just show up back here and think you have a place with us."

His words are harsh, fueled by a combination of alcohol and resentment. The sting of his words momentarily catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, hitting back with a truth of your own.

"That's rich coming from you," you reply, "considering I watched Wayne shove you into a locker Sophomore year”, your blunt response is delivered with a hint of bitterness, a reminder of old grievances and past tensions.

The others in the room murmur, no one is surprised by this revelation, simply watching with growing intrigue. RJ’s face colors with embarrassment, clearly not expecting his own past to be brought up like this. Wayne, uncharacteristically avoids your gaze, a flicker of guilt on his face.

As the tension in the room continues to mount, a soft touch on your arm brings a moment of clarity. Your head turns, and your gaze meets Lorraine's dark brown eyes. Her steady presence instantly has a calming effect on you, making you feel grounded and less on edge.

Her eyes remain locked with yours, a silent understanding passing between you. Lorraine’s gentle tug on your sleeve, accompanied by her simple request, "take me home?", is enough to make you snap out of the tense exchange.

You quickly nod your agreement, the thought of leaving Lorraine alone with RJ in his current state and driving off with him not the ideal situation. You know she needs a safe ride home. Without another word, you turn away from RJ and the others in the room, guiding Lorraine towards the exit.

As Lorraine and you make your way towards the front door, RJ clumsily tries to follow, stumbling and calling after Lorraine in his drunken state.

However, Jackson steps in this time, stopping him from tagging along. Sensing RJ’s aggression, you cast a sharp glare their way, not keen on having any further confrontations.

You and Lorraine silently descend into the front yard, the sound of the gate creaking quietly as you pass through it. The night air is crisp and quiet, a stark contrast to the tension and noise of the house you've just left behind.

Before you can mount your motorcycle, Lorraine gently catches your arm, drawing your attention back to her. You turn completely to face her, your motorbike momentarily forgotten.

The streetlamp across the road casts a soft, warm glow on Lorraine, illuminating her delicate features. Her usually stoic eyes are softened, and in the dim twilight, they almost seem to sparkle.

In this moment, with the gentle light playing across her face, she looks truly beautiful. Your thoughts are momentarily muddled, caught in the spell her gaze seems to cast on you.

With a hint of frustration and genuine curiosity, Lorraine asks, "what the hell was that? Huh? It's been five years, haven't you changed any? Or did you just leave for nothin’?" Her voice is firm, a hint of irritation behind her words. She's not looking for a fight, but she wants to know what drove you to such a display back there.

You find yourself opening your mouth to provide an explanation, but the words get stuck in your throat. You feel like a teenager again, flustered and unsure how to articulate your thoughts.

Your mind races, but nothing coherent comes out, leaving you just staring at her, your mouth hanging open uselessly.

Lorraine's expression softens, her doe eyes studying yours intensely. A sigh escapes her lips, and she turns away from you, but casts a look over her shoulder at you.

She then murmurs a soft request, "I don't live far, could you walk me?" her voice is quieter now, the annoyance replaced by a hint of vulnerability.

There's a sense of frustration and confusion swirling through you as you struggle to make sense of your emotions and actions. You feel unsteady, off-balanced, as if walking on shifting sand.

It would mean walking there and then all the way back here for your bike.

Yet, at Lorraine’s request, you step up next to her without hesitation, falling into familiar steps beside her, just as you used to. The silence between you is both comfortable and strangely tense.

You walk together, the only sounds being the soft crunch of gravel under your feet and the occasional bird call in the distance.

But you ignore it, you always ignore it when they call to you.

After a few more minutes of silence, Lorraine finally breaks it, clearing her throat and adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She looks at you with a sincere expression, her voice soft and slightly apologetic. "I'm... real sorry about that," she says, her voice sincere.

"I do mean it when I say they've changed. They're good people, y’know?” she speaks genuinely, trying to reassure you that the people you just left behind are decent, despite tonight's display saying otherwise.

Your mind drifts back to the odd bag you discovered in Bobby-Lynn's bedroom, filled with items that made your hairs stand on end. You haven’t had much a chance to process it, what it could be, what it means.

These thoughts spark a question to your tongue, which leads you to ask Lorraine, "how long have you been hangin’ around with them now?" your voice lacks accusation, yet hints at curiosity and maybe even a slightly protective tone.

Lorraine lets out a soft laugh, the sound echoing down the dark street. Her laughter prompts a reluctant smile to tug at the corners of your lips.

With a knowing look in her eyes, she replies, "long enough now that you ain't got nothin' to get your ass in a twist over” her response is playful yet resolute, asserting that she can take care of herself.

You hum and nod, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to appear nonchalant.

Then in a feigned casual tone that doesn't quite hide your curiosity, "and RJ?" you question, laced with subtle care as it falls from your lips despite knowing it's none of your business.

Perhaps you ask because despite the fact it’s been five years, you do care, more than you're willing to admit.

Dare you say, you always did care? Never.

Lorraine gives you a playfully chastising look before turning her gaze forward along with you. Her response, typical of her, is short and to the point.

She simply shrugs and says, "it’s good," her voice carrying a hint of resignation and perhaps a bit of frustration.

The ambiguity of her answer leaves you wondering if she really means it's ‘good’ or if she's just trying to downplay any issues.

Seeking to bring a bit of humor to the moment, you give her a lighthearted tease. "Good? Lorraine, that's about as vague as a politician's promise. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're holdin’ back on me," you say, your voice filled with a touch of playful banter.

Your words seem to hit the mark, as Lorraine lets out a soft, amused scoff, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Oh, shut up," she responds, but her tone is lighter now, less guarded. There's a sliver of familiarity in her reaction, a flicker of the old spark between you.

Maybe your friendship did somewhat survive the wreckage you left in your wake before you abandoned the ship that is this sinking town five years ago.

As you continue walking side by side, a comfortable silence envelops the two of you. After a moment, conversation begins to flow effortlessly. It feels natural.

You catch up on the past five years, sharing stories, news, and everything in between. The conversation is light, filled with laughter and genuine connection. Despite the years of separation, it's as if no time has passed at all.

The easy banter and familiarity between you make it clear that some things, like your bond, never change. It was rare for you two to talk like this back then, but now?

It’s nice.

As the conversation continues, you realize that you've reached the heart of the town, having slowed your pace without realizing it. You look around, taking in the familiar surroundings, trying to figure out your exact location. The realization hits that you must have arrived at Lorraine's place.

Your curiosity prompts you to ask, "you live around here? In town?”

Lorraine nods her head in affirmation, gesturing upward towards the upper part of the small town library.

"Yeah, I got the loft up there, all to myself," she replies. The revelation gives you a mix of surprise and a sense of familiarity. It feels strange yet fitting that Lorraine would live above the library.

As Lorraine reveals her living situation, you let a playful smile tug at your lips, unable to resist a little teasing. "Livin’ in the library, huh? It's like you were meant to be a resident bibliophile," you jest, a hint of friendly mockery in your voice.

Lorraine instinctively swats at your arm, a gesture that is unexpected but also far too familiar, making the both of you laugh.

As the laughter slowly dies down, you find yourself taking in Lorraine's smile, watching how her brown eyes glimmer in the soft light. In this moment, you realize that you've never fully noticed just how pretty she is.

Has she always been, and you just never noticed?

The realization catches you off-guard, and you question why this thought is suddenly so prominent in your mind. Confused, you wonder what's wrong with you, why you're suddenly so focused on her beauty.

“Thank you,” her voice softer now as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Before you can respond, she continues, her voice filled with gratitude.

"It's nice havin’ someone around that makes me feel normal again," she says, her words carrying a hint of vulnerability "I… feel like I can breathe”.

The honesty in her confession reaches you, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the years you've been away. The implication that she hasn't felt normal all this time sits heavily on your shoulders.

You recall her isolation on her family farm, the strained relationship between her parents, and the weight of the unreachable expectations she faced from them both.

The realization hits you how deeply this town has affected her too, how it's left a lasting impact on her psyche as much as it did you.

That wasn’t your fault, you were drowning, you did what you had to do.

But this is Lorraine, you may not have been close but… maybe you were. More than you want to admit, and to admit that to yourself? That might shatter you.

You meet her eyes, your heart heavy with remorse "I'm sorry, Lorraine," you say, your voice sincere and filled with empathy. "I never meant to leave you here alone, dealin’ with all of... this... on your own” your words hang between you, the weight of your absence evident in the air.

There's a moment of silence as Lorraine looks away, her gaze drifting to the side as her thoughts race. The energy between you feels off, strained and awkward. You can't quite put your finger on what's causing this sudden shift, but the tension is palpable.

The words escape your lips before you can even think about it, “you should come by the manor whenever” you blurt out, the words leaving you like they have a mind of their own.

"I'll be there, gettin’ things together the next couple days. I wouldn't mind your company” you stumble over the words as they leave your mouth, surprised by your own impulsiveness.

Surprise flashes across Lorraine's face, but she quickly softens her expression into a small smile.

Concern fills her voice as she asks you, "are you doing okay? Bein’ there after everything?" Her eyes search yours, looking for some kind of confirmation that you're truly alright.

You start to open your mouth, intending to reassure her that you're fine. You're about to brush off her concern, even though you spent the night sleeping on a park bench with your backpack as a makeshift pillow. But something stops you. Instead of speaking, you remain silent, closing your mouth without a word.

Old habits die hard, you suppose.

After a moment of studying you, Lorraine gives you a small smile and reassures you, “I’ll stop by” her voice is gentle and sincere. She then follows it up with another “thank you”.

The weight of her words hangs in the air, and her gratitude seems to go beyond this conversation. It feels deeper somehow, as if there’s a hidden understanding between you.

As Lorraine turns to head up the stairs to the library, you find yourself lost in thought. The understanding you have between the two of you has always been there, but you never quite had the words to define it.

Perhaps it was a connection born from shared experiences, a bond that defied explanation.

As you consider this, you realize that even now after all this time, you still can't find the words to describe it.

And when she turns to give you one small departing wave before slipping inside, you find yourself forgetting what you were worried about in the first place.

previous, next

————————————————————————

Tag List: @thatshyboy1998

if you’d like to be added just let me know!

[stanathanxoox]

You Mean?

One being extremely touched that other can visualize having a baby with them, a family. - Ominis Gaunt x reader

The two of you were sat lazily entwined on the couch that had been conjured in the room of requirement back in your fifth year. Now here you were just days away from graduating from Hogwarts, your NEWT exams finally finished as of this afternoon, beside your boyfriend of the last year and a half. Ominis had asked to court you upon your return from the summer holidays between your fifth and sixth year and you were more than happy to agree, having developed major feelings for him during your first year at Hogwarts. Fiercely loyal and protective of his friends he had been there for you when Sebastian had decided to flee after killing his Uncle and his sister had turned against him. Even though you had sworn you weren’t going to turn him in you were positive that he felt someone would, and Ominis and you had lost a best friend that day. You heard from him occasionally in letters that he sent, but he always said never to write back to him and so you didn’t at his wishes. You knew he was safe and that was the main thing. Your pulled from your thoughts when Ominis pulls you closer to him and nuzzles his head into the crock of your neck, a favourite resting place of his. You moan when you feel the light kiss he places their and feel his lips turn up into a sweet smile.

“I can’t wait for us to be out of here. For us to settle down and have a family of our own. A baby, with a mix of both of us” he whispers and you turn towards him, having thought of that before, but honestly you hadn’t thought that Ominis was thinking the same thing. It made you so happy that he wanted the same future together that you did

“You mean, you want to start a family with me?” you ask 

“Of course I do my beautiful girl, since the moment we started courting I knew you were it for me”

“Oh my goodness, yes I want all of that with you too Ominis” you say throwing your arms around your boyfriend, who chuckles at your enthusiasm before placing a kiss on your lips.

Tag List: @tiva-jenry-caskett-rizzles-densi​, @jimmybpride​, @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​, @nikkiwierden​, @samchelforever007​, @kirkspockbones​, @xoncisxncislaxncisnolaox​, @lasalle-pride-sebastian-love​, @haliannej​, @brooklyn-99-amyxjake​​, @mizzezm​, @genius2050​, @twilight-twihard​, @cullencoven2019​, @wxlfgirlx​, @luciferxchloeislove​, @drethanramsey-ismybabe​, @sawyer-oakley-is-mighty-fine​, @loverofoneshots​, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen​​

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

this is not a request or anything, you write what You want, but this idea entered my brain and i need to put it Somewhere so your inbox it is. dimension swap crossover between canon dbd and your msi au where something causes the two charleses to swap places

Oh, this would be fun!

MSI!Charles would be immediately 1000x more protective over an Edwin that didn't survive his ordeal and died at 16. I think there would be a bit of a learning curve with them adjusting to a Charles who is older (physically speaking) than canon!Edwin.

That being said, I can see Edwin being very flustered over an older Charles who wears a suit and maybe has a bit of stubble. Though since MSI!Charles isn't a ghost, he'd probably miss being touched by his own Charles.

On an angstier note, I imagine it would cause canon!Edwin a lot of uncertainty to realize that there's a universe out there where Charles survived his hypothermia and internal bleeding. Could his Charles have been saved? Had Edwin not been there, would Charles eventually have left the attic to get help? Did Edwin accidentally kill him with his act of kindness?

The Night Nurse would be very weirded out to be confronted with a Charles who suddenly respects her and doesn't refer to her as "Charlie." He does slip up and call her "Nursie" once and she feels like they're back on solid ground.

I think canon!Charles would be bewildered by the MSI. What do you mean, he and Edwin work for a secret sort-of government agency now? And what do you mean the Night Nurse is their boss? He has to wear a bloody suit to work? Why the fuck are Brad and Hunter his coworkers? Shouldn't they be in America? Or in Hell?

Also, why is twentysomething Edwin so fit? Why are his shoulders so broad? When the fuck did that happen?

I can see MSI!Edwin being charmed and exasperated by a perpetually 16-year-old Charles prone to throwing himself into danger with even more frequency and enthusiasm than his own Charles, as well as being horrified that there's a universe out there where his best friend died so young.

Canon!Charles would have feelings about the fact that in the MSI universe, Edwin has been sporadically hooking up with Thomas for years. If he finds out about the supply closet rendezvous, he might go hunting Thomas down with his cricket bat.

MSI!Crystal and Niko are delighted to watch a skinny teenage Charles following their Edwin around like a bodyguard. Niko doesn't know why this Charles hugged her for like 10 minutes when he first met her, but she thought it was sweet.

If both Charleses and both Edwins are briefly in the same universe, I can see the Edwins squabbling over who had it worse. "I spent seventy-three years in Hell." "Well, I spent ninety-five years someplace just as bad." "I *died*." "Charles drags me to office cocktail hours every month." The Charleses step back and let it happen.

First reason this could never actually happen in the MSI universe: canon!Edwin, with the benefit of having been studying the supernatural for decades more than MSI!Edwin and being an actual supernatural creature, could probably figure out what had kidnapped MSI!Edwin and how to stop it with an afternoon of research.

Reason #2: Not sure which, if either, of the Payneland pairings would have gotten together yet, but I can totally see one of the Charleses looking at the other Charles, thinking, "Huh, I think he's in love with his Edwin" and then getting slapped in the face with one hell of a realization.

For anyone wondering what the MSI is:

[wyrmarchives]

Awesome! With that in mind,

Could I request Karlach from Baldar’s Gate 3 x Chubby Reader romantic fanfic? Perhaps something to do with summer due to the warm weather and what not? Thank you so much for allowing me to request and have a great day/night !! :D

- 😈 Anon

Beautiful

Karlach x Plus Sized!Reader

Triggers: None! All Fluff!

Summary:

Set in ACT 3 along the Rivington coast.

Summer heat and fresh sweets.

“Bloody hell it’s hot... You think we might ask Gale to summon an ice storm?” Karlach whines as she stretches. The heat from her skin distorts the air around her with a haze. The infernal engine in her chest flickering with its steady thrum of orange.

“I think Gale would give us a lecture on the mechanics of magic, Karlach.” You snicker as you fan yourself with a book the party found on the way to Baldur’s Gate.

“You’re probably right, aren’t you, Soldier?” She muses. A playful smile pulls at her lips. “Do you think we could find something to help cool us down in the market?” Karlach gives a waved gesture down the road to the bustling streets.

“Probably. Anything particular in mind?” You ask as you walk with her, leaving the rest of the party to set camp as the evening progresses.

“I would kill to have some sweets! The Druid’s Cove and Goblin Camp were practically ransacked, and the Shadow Lands weren’t exactly welcoming, now were they?” She jests. “Oh! Look there!” She points to a merchant stall, pulling your smaller frame with her as she prances up to the stall.

Fruits and sweets. Candied pieces in paper wrap. “How much?” You ask the merchant.

“Seven gold for whole fruit, twelve for the candies.” The man grins with a crooked smile.

“Twelve whole coin for the candies?!” Karlach balks, but pays anyway. “When did Baldur’s Gate become so greedy?! I remember my time before Zariel when they were nine!” She whimpers to you before tossing a piece in her mouth. The sugary confection on her tongue melting her protests of a lighter coin purse. “You must try one!” She insists.

Taking your hand in hers with enthusiasm and placing one of the sweets in your palm. A wide smile on her face. More than happy to share her joy with you. The lovely hellion she is.

You chuckle as you pop it in your mouth. The sweetness dissolves on your tongue leaving behind the once covered fruit. A pleasant taste, with the addition of warmth throughout your chest at her loving gesture. “Thank you. It’s good.” You smile at her warmly.

The two of you spend your afternoon bouncing and bubbling between the stands. Spending coin or negotiating with merchants for the self earned spoils. “Let’s enjoy ourselves for today at least!” Karlach had persuaded you with ease. “Call it a date if you must!” The towering tiefling butters you up. Peppered chaste kisses and innocent laughter as she leaves feathered touches to your plush sides and round face. Boundless energy as she parades through the streets with the vigor of a child.

Ever the easy going and spontaneous woman. So captivating in her way; but the day grows dark, and the two of you make way back to camp. Evening slipping to dusk, bringing cooler air with it. The bright stars twinkling reflections on the sea. It’s impossible to do all but hesitate for the sight. Your abrupt stop gently tugging on your lover’s arm, halting her pace.

Her heart would melt- had it been in her chest.

Her lover, her companion, her newly found everything illuminated by moonlight on a warm summer’s night- enthralled by the scenery nonetheless. “Beautiful…” she breathes. A barely audible whisper that carries in the salty breeze.

“The sight… Yes.” You reply.

“No, soldier.” She chuckles gently before stepping up to your side, brushing strands of hair from your face. Her hand resting on your cheek, gently turning your face to her’s. “You.”

Borders by: @cafekitsune | Border Link: here

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[ender1821]

(back on my shiny duo brainrotting time, featuring Secret Life 9AM Pearl!)

— — —

It was a beautiful day out. Autumn had arrived in its wonderful grace, bringing nice but not too breezy afternoons and picturesque views of the forests that stretched beyond the world’s borders. The scenery was simply too breathtaking to not—

“What are you doing?”

Pearl perks up from the sketch pad she had on her lap, discovering that Gem had approached her.

“Just a lil’ doodling.” Pearl answers, using the pencil in her hand to point to her work-in-progress.

Gem quirks an eyebrow up at the reply, trying to have a glance at the picture before questioning her friend more. “Really? Right here?”

Pearl looks around. Well, she couldn’t really see what’s wrong with having a break in front of her mound, unless Gem was referring to the whole…game situation. In that case, she supposes it’s a fair query.

“Inspiration waits for no man, GeminiTay!” Pearl puffs out her chest, as though her declaration was meant for more than just Gem, but for the whole world.

Unfazed by Pearl’s theatrics, Gem sighs, “I knew I should’ve stopped Jimmy from calling you Shakespeare.”

With that, any attempt Pearl made at refocusing on her drawing were thrown out the window, and she took Gem’s words as a challenge.

“Why, doth thee not hold the same enthusiasm for the arts as I?” Pearl set aside her pencil, then mimicked holding a skull in her palm, preparing to monologue to thin air if Gem doesn’t stop her.

“Weirdo.” Gem giggles at the grand gestures Pearl made.

“Oh, you love it.” Pearl waves off the remark without a thought. It never gets old, and Pearl’s sure that Gem must’ve called her that a hundred times by now.

Just as Pearl expected, Gem lets out another fond sigh before taking a seat next to Pearl. Out of the corner of her eye, Pearl catches Gem trying to hide a smile.

Pearl returns to working on her sketch soon after, pausing for a second when she feels a weight press onto her shoulder. Gem was leaning on her to get a better view of the sketch pad, and as she shuffled closer, the unmistakable scent of pumpkins and flowers wafted into the air. Pearl makes a mental note to add more orange shades to the final picture.

The sketch at the moment is of the fields of sunflowers scattered around the grass fields of where the Mounders chose to set up camp at. Nothing too out of the ordinary, which is exactly what Pearl needs after days of chaos, all in the hopes of completing secret tasks.

“It looks pretty.” Gem breathes out after a brief lapse of silence between the two.

“Aw, thank you!” Pearl cranes her neck slightly to look at Gem. It doesn’t take long before she snorts and captures Gem’s attention, wondering what Pearl found worthy of laughing at.

Pearl points to the sunflowers. “They match your eyes.”

Gem pushes herself off of Pearl with an offended scrunch of her eyebrows. Her hand hovers dangerously close to the diamond sword she kept sheathed beside her waist. “Remind me again, can yellows kill greens? Because I’m really tempted to right now.”

There’s an amused flicker in Pearl’s face, and she clutches her chest with a horribly faked expression of terror. “Ooh no, am I being threatened by the great GeminiSlay?”

“Dork.” Gem huffs and rolls her eyes, moving to rest her arms on the ground below instead.

Pearl replies with a toothy grin.

[ashfae]

So, uh. I got to do a thing last weekend.

Yes, that's the set in Bathgate. I was one of 75 people who won a contest to go visit. We had an amazing afternoon getting shown around. The level of detail was beyond even my wildest dreams. We had drinks inside Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death and got to sit inside the Dirty Donkey pub to be shown episode 2.1. I very very much want to babble about all of it but have been threatened with Extreme Sanctions and am restraining myself until after Friday at least.

...but after that I am going to babble so much about that record shop in particular because it's FANTASTIC. Not even in spoilery ways, just in "Ohhhh they had so much fun making this and I love it" ways.

The Amazon Prime and Good Omens crew who were there that day were absolutely amazing, they took incredible care of us and had so much enthusiasm for the show. We met up with the set designer Michael (edit: had his last name wrong) (in the bookshop! I've been in the bookshop!!!), costume designer Kate Carin, lead decorator Bronwyn Franklin, the head of the graphics design whose name I can't remember for certain which kills me because talking to them was the highlight of the day and I want to sing their praises (Edit: Mickey!), and several of the producers, as well as numerous unnamed generally helpful awesome people who were there to keep us from licking the books (sigh). If any of them spot this from @goodomensonprime: thank you!!

And yes, for those of you who've been following stories of my 8yo the comic-drawing fellow GO addict, she's never going to forgive me for doing this without her. Sorry, sweetheart, but it was 18+. (I'm getting her one of the t-shirts to make up for it)

[aaakikoo]

SOMETHING PRECIOUS

summary → when you think that you nothing in your life other than to get married to the prince your parents set you up with, someone else comes along your way.

paring → bodyguard! b.katsuki x princess f!reader

an → sorry this took so long, and this is so shitty omggg! Been busy lately :)

warnings → cursing, killing attempt, uncomfortable situations etc, tell me if I missed any! VERY CORNY AND NOT READ PROOF, idk what was happening here icl.

series m.list - this is part 3

“Hurry y/n.” Your mother said as she dragged you from your room down to the dining room. Where prince Todoroki and has parents along with your father, the king sat.

“Good morning y/n, my beautiful daughter.” Your father said as he welcomed you in with your mother. You both took a seat on each of his sides.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Prince Todoroki said as he took your hand and kissed the top of it. After that moment you didn’t want to sit with him anymore.

“G-good morning.”

You sat there next to the man you hated the most as the everyone else discussed while you remained silent, not that anyone will take your ideas or thoughts seriously.

After that meeting you went back to your room, changed to a smaller more comfier dress and took a stroll down your garden to water your plants.

After you had finished you went back to your quarters to be met with a familiar face.

“Good afternoon, princess.” Bakugou said as he opened the door for you.

“Drop the formalities and get in.” He didn’t have a choice, you pulled him anyways.

“Can I help you, princess?”

“I told you to drop the formalities.” You said and room fell quiet.

“What do you need then, y/n?” He said as he took off his suit jacket and hanged it on one of your pink Victorian chairs.

“Do you remember what I said the other night?” You were shying away, Bakugou knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Yes I do.” He replied with crossed arms.

“Have you..considered or even thought about what I said..”

he sighed deeply. “Not very much. Because there is no point, you’re a princess, waiting to get married to another prince who is soon to be a king. While I am just your bodyguard that can be replaced any moment. Why would I ever consider something that will never happen?”

His words hit you very hard as you looked deeply into his eyes and said.

“It could happen. If I run away.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, y/n. I am here to do my job, not to make you my wife.”

“But I-I don’t love prince Todoroki. I don’t want his wife or have anything to do with him.” You were crying at that point. Bakugou hugged you very tight.

“I know that you’ve never asked for any of this, and I know this unfair. But the world isn’t fair. I know you appreciate me, and I appreciate you too, but we can never be together.” He said as he stroked your hair.

“Can we at least be friends?” You asked.

“It’s fine with me.”

You and Bakugou sat in your carriage on your way downtown to go shopping, just because you felt like it.

He had carried all of your bags and put them at the back of your carriage.

“I need a break from home so badly, it’s always nice to be here.” You said as Bakugou smiled at your enthusiasm.

As he was about to say something you heard a loud bang and him screaming your name at the top of his lungs.

As you both fell down to the ground, him on top of you.

You couldn’t process what happened as he already started running after someone. You ran quickly to your carriage and sat yourself inside, waiting for Bakugou.

Many minutes had passed and you didn’t know what was going on.

As you had decided to order the carriage driver to leave, he then came with a stranger between his two arms, wearing all black, wrapped with an old rope.

“Y/n, get home. I’ll be there soon.” Bakugou said as he was panting.

“No get in.” You fought back.

“Y/N LEAVE! ILL BE THERE SOON.”

You knew not to say anything back as you sadly nodded and made your way home.

As you got home you ran straight to your parents office where they were sat there looking very stressed out till you entered the room. Your mom ran over to you and hugged you.

“My y/n, what happened? we got calls from your bodyguard and from the police!”

“Mother! We were heading back from the city and I think someone tried to shoot me, but Bakugou chased after him and told me to get home.”

As your father was about to speak your personal maid knocked on the open door,

“Sorry to disturb, but there is alot going on downstairs.”

You and your family headed downstairs to see your bodyguard standing and panting heavily, and police officers and patrollers standing by the entrance.

“CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT HAS HAPPENED HERE?”

Your father yelled in frustration.

“Your majesty let me explain. As far as I am concerned, princess y/n was on her way back from a trip to the city when all of the sudden she gets attacked by this man right here.”

One of the police officers pulls the man from behind.

“Mr. Bakugou right here whom happened to be her bodyguard defended her and chased him down till he caught him and wrapped him with old ropes that he had found on the streets. We took both of them in to our department for investigations, and after along time we find out that someone had paid this man to attack the princess in different ways” The officer finishes and bows his head to the king out of respect.

“Can that explain the attack that happened while we were at the neighboring kingdom?” You asked and Bakugou was very quick to answer.

“Yes. But we need to figure out how he and perhaps other know when you are at home and when you aren’t, and how exactly did he get so close to the prince Todorokis estate.”

Your father had chatted with the police he told them to have more police officers patrolling in the cities, and keep their heads up at all times.

[somemydayy]

“ugh.. It’s terrible.” he said in a raspy tone of voice, the late night multitude of empty coffee cans scattered around him were finally taking their toll as he repeatedly scrunched up his nose. He soon began pulling at the roots of his hair in desperation, and frustration.

For the umpteenth time he clenched his hands over the scattered pieces of paper, and crumbled it up then unraveled it once again. He was at a loss. No matter how much he tried, the words wouldn’t come out coherently, as he stared back at the empty piece of paper.

“What’s wrong?” The air held a silent pause. He let out a deep sigh he felt his shoulders drop as he laid his head in defeat.

“They have me writing lyrics for a song we’re composing right now. I’m trying, I really am, but I can’t seem to write anything.”

“So your just giving up?”

“Does it really matter though?” he says with a sigh of despair.

“Actually, it does.” you retort.

“Well, I can’t write, anything!” he says exasperated and with a hint of sarcasm.

“Come on, you’re not a quitter!” you yell with enthusiasm.

“I mean it’s there. It’s definitely there. But I just can’t. I just don’t know how…” he pauses and looks back at you.

“It’s alright. I get it.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You know, everyone has those kinds of days so It’s nothing to beat yourself up over.”

“Yeah, I know but still.”

“Whenever I’m feeling like that, I do something.”

“Do something?”

“Watch a movie, go out for a coffee, hang out with loved ones.”

“What about you?” you questioned.

“Me? I just go for a walk.” he replied with a smile.

“Walk? Where to?” You questioned.

“Yes, umm.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere in particular. I just walk around, and see where it takes me to.” he says with a smile, his blush is apparent and a little prominent on the tips of his ears.

Cute you think to yourself.

“Where do you usually end up at?” you eagerly lean into him, awaiting a response.

“If you really want to know. I’ll only tell you, but only if you can write a lyric for me.” he smirks.

“Hey, thats not fair. Just tell me, already!”

“What’s the point in that? If you really want to know your going to have to think harder.”

“Oh come. You got secrets to spill, and the curiosity is killing me.”

He gives a cheeky look before shaking his head and telling you he won’t answer until you come up with something.

With a pout you take the pen from the palm of his hand, and play with his fingers.

I like you. you write on his palm, you look at him sheepishly and with worry but it disappears when you find him smiling back at you.

“Alright, brace yourself!” he says with a sheepish smile.

“Just hurry up—”

“You.” he says with a gentle smile on his lips. Cheeks burning crimson with embarrassment. A awkward glance at you makes him smile harder.

“What?” you stammer out.

“I always find myself walking to your house, in the hopes of meeting, you.” he confessed.

“Do you really?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t make up something so embarrassing like this.” he hides his face behind his hands.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Hey don’t laugh! I just poured my heart out to you.” he retorts.

“You’re my favorite.” he said softly.

“Favorite what?” she wondered out loud.

“Oh well, y-you know…” he stammered out a jumbled mess of words.

“Well just that. My favorite pair of eyes to look into. My favorite name to see appear on my phone. My favorite way to spend an afternoon. Fill in the blank, Beautiful. I left it at favorite for a reason.”

“You’re my favorite too.” you replied with a sigh of relief and then a prominent smiles makes itself clear on your lips.

© Somemydayy 2024 | Please do not copy or alter this writing on Tumblr or any other platform.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Her Embrace, Her Tears

(Angst and fluff and eventually smut, this is going to be very multi-chaptered)

Lae'zel probably didn't need a good excuse, or further motivation, to go to war with Shar. But, she is about to get it anyway.

Five years post game, Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior/Chosen of Shar Shadowheart and (with a few notable exceptions) everyone got their bad endings, in that everyone is still alive, but shitty. Lae'zel is thriving though, aside from her relationship.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

or read Chapter One below the cut

For an instant, Lae’zel thought she could live in this moment infinitely and be content. 

She lay in the grass, half-shaded under a tree, propped up on her elbows, bare legs crossed. Shadowheart sat just a few feet in front of her, wine glass in hand, telling her a story.

It was perfect.

The afternoon sunlight was just beginning to think about taking a bow for the day, and her keen eyes had come to know the skyline of Baldur’s Gate so well that she could pinpoint where the first tears of evening would appear. They’d found a grassy, isolated little place in the peaks of the upper city. Shadowheart brought wine, Lae’zel saw to the other comforts, a blanket (that Scratch had run off with and shred to pieces in the bushes, like the magnificent war beast that he was) and a few whistling stones to warn them if anyone was planning to interrupt their rendezvous.

Their time together, by necessity, had always been these frantic, passionate collection of stolen moments. Today felt different, and she wasn’t sure why. Shadowheart wasn’t working herself up, anticipating the moment she had to leave, and didn’t seem weighed down by what awaited her once they parted company either. She was there. She was talkative even, especially for her. From what Lae’zel could gather, it had been an exciting few days at the Sharran Enclave. More exciting still, she could actually talk about it. Nothing that had happened had anything to do with Shar or her dealings.

Shadowheart did love to gossip, Lae’zel had observed her enthusiasm for it over the roughly five and half years that they’d known one another. Because of her nature as a Chosen of Shar, she wasn’t often afforded the opportunity to indulge. It was a rather inconvenient hobby for Shadowheart to have.

And that made it all the more a thing to be appreciated. So, though it wasn’t really that interesting, Lae’zel tried to listen, and failed to do so diligently. It was too easy to get lost in her own thoughts as she watched her, zhak vo'n'ash duj, bright and alive and feeling, animated between sips of wine. It had been too long.

“What I gathered happened, really,” Shadowheart sighed, “is that the night before, he’d marched into the enclave and said he needed a cleric to come with him to Lord Astarion’s palace. He knew my name, and said that the lord was invoking a favor, which rather provoked them. Assumptions were made—admittedly, some of them based off of the fact that the only acolyte who remembered that I sometimes go to his revels, didn’t remember enough. The man guessed where he was and was foolish enough to say something outloud, and my dear sweet, stupid acolytes decided to interrogate him. All night. All the next day. No one considered for even a moment to bother me about it.”

Lae’zel tried to catch up with what Shadowheart had been saying while she had been daydreaming about that long plait of black hair hanging over her shoulder. Remembering how it felt to unwind it from its chain and the soft little noises of satisfaction that Shadowheart made when she let Lae’zel massage her scalp.

What were they talking about? Astarion. Lae’zel hadn’t spoken to him in five years. Had barely thought about him. She resisted the urge to express surprise that he hadn’t inspired anyone to kill him yet. “You attend revels at Astarion’s palace?” That was an interesting detail. She thought a lot about what Shadowheart must do while living in Baldur’s Gate, but she hadn’t imagined her enjoying many parties. It was a refreshing image actually, but an ache thumped in her chest at the acknowledgement of what a small part of her life Lae’zel truly was.

“It’s an excellent venue to find… potential.”

Ah. That made sense and soured Lae’zel’s momentarily charming idea of Shadowheart actually enjoying herself. Even without Lae’zel.

The palace of a vampire lord did seem like it would serve as a veritable beacon to draw in lost souls, people Shar could consume entirely.

A nearby bark caught her attention and Lae’zel looked up to see Scratch momentarily calling her attention to a squirrel that darted up another tree. The wardog’s glittering githyanki accessories were a little overkill when it came to a hunt as simple as a squirrel in an upper city park, but Scratch didn’t seem intent on killing the beast, in any case. Just practice.

He hadn’t come near Shadowheart today, something that Lae’zel had taken note of, but that Shadowheart seemed to ignore. Perhaps actively.

The dog had always loved Shadowheart, but the mantle of the Dark Lady could be oppressive indeed, and it seemed that Scratch’s way of dealing with it was to keep his distance.

 Lae’zel pinched her tongue with the points of her teeth ever so slightly. Her skills of interplanar diplomacy would not serve her here. She could not say anything good about Shadowheart’s goddess, so if she didn’t want a fight, she wouldn’t say anything at all.

They had so little time together. They should just enjoy it. Lae’zel tried not to let her eyes betray any rage.

Despite her efforts, something in Shadowheart’s demeanor shifted noticeably, as she swept her eyes across Lae’zel. It was like she knew what she was feeling, even if she couldn’t hear her thoughts—and that wasn’t a  guarantee—even if they only had a few days together, maybe twice a year, if they were very lucky—she still knew her. Could still feel what she was feeling, in just a razorsharp glance.

Bitterly, Lae’zel had to remind herself that it probably had something to do with being Chosen.

In any case, Shadowheart resisted any temptation to call her out, or to draw attention to her barely disguised contempt for the Dark Lady. She looked down into her wine glass, drained it and then went on with the rest of her story like she hadn’t just read her soul, if not her thoughts. “So, once Astarion noticed his servant hadn’t returned—he came looking for him, personally.”

“Oh dear,” Lae’zel carefully cultivated brand of sarcasm had been honed in no small measure from conversation with both her lover, and from the vampire featured in her lover’s story. “How enterprising. I wouldn’t expect that of him.”

“He was furious—nearly killed four of my acolytes. It was just lucky I was alerted to the breach in time.”

“What did Astarion want with a cleric? Surely he has someone nearer by who can manage a sending. Was he just trying to get you to come there personally?”

“I don’t know,” Shadowheart admitted. “He wasn’t in a mood to discuss it. He took his man and left. He said it was just to heal someone, and that they didn’t need it any longer.”

“Because they made due with other means, or because the patient died?”

“He refused to tell me,” Shadowheart poured the last of the wine into her glass. That this bothered Shadowheart was apparent, and again, Lae’zel had to hide her feelings. There was something amusing about how adamantly Sharrans insisted on learning every little secret while never offering up any of their own in return. “You’re smirking,” Shadowheart didn’t turn her head, but held Lae’zel in the corner of her gaze, even as she refused to turn away from the view of the low sun in the city skyline.

Lae’zel forced her mouth back into its usual relaxed pout. From one angle, it was very amusing that Shadowheart was the type of person to always take and never give, by nature of her faith and her devolution to a goddess who’s creed was nothingness, and who’s practice was consummate consumption. On the other side of things though, it was just another thing that bothered Lae’zel. Shadowheart longed, deep down, to give as much as she received, in secrets, in idle gossip, in emotion and affection. But she couldn’t. To give would be to offend her goddess.

“There are many things about your Faerûn that I will never appreciate,” Lae’zel admitted, speaking in an exhale that almost threatened to become a sigh. “But it is here that I first observed a wide-spread practice of a certain reciprocity.”

“Your people lack reciprocity?” Shadowheart finally did tear her eyes away, flashing them in Lae’zel’s direction with one raised eyebrow. “And you admit this?”

“My people lack nothing,” Lae’zel corrected her. “There is no concept we could learn that we would not already have records and analogue for in our own annals, traditions and precious treasures. We simply discard what is not efficient, worthy, and nearing perfection.”

“I see,” said Shadowheart flatly, but she was smiling, and her eyes were wandering down Lae’zel’s outstretched legs, which was usually a good sign that she could get away with saying anything on her mind without the half-elf taking unnecessary offense.

“But, perhaps, there are things we discard too hastily. Things we discount without justification,” Lae’zel did sigh now, “and it is in Faerûn that I see the practice of reciprocity in its pure and faithful form. Unquestioned.”

“Oh, people question it,” Shadowheart finally set the wine down. It was mostly gone anyway and had been growing warmer for hours while they lay in the grass together, under the sun and then the inadequate stretching shade of an old tree.

“You don’t. Not when I have you to myself.”

At that, Shadowheart’s lightness ruptured and pain bloomed through her features. Lae’zel knew her mistake instantly, but held fast. On this, she would not budge. Shar wanted all of Shadowheart, and their arrangement was such that only a small part was left to her, and only temporarily, and only to deepen Shadowheart’s loss. Their mutual loss.

That was the only reason they were allowed these stolen days. Because they both knew it was something set aside to be taken away from them at whatever moment in the future was deemed the most painful, the most potent. To the delight of Shar. If they could accept that inevitable end, they could hang onto each other, just one more time. And one more time again.

Lae’zel could never truly have Shadowheart to herself. Not even temporarily. It was always for Shar.

But, Shadhowheart didn’t take the time to remind her of this. Enough of their time was already consecrated away from them, and perhaps that was why she merely gazed at Lae'zel, and said, “come closer to me, will you?”

Lae’zel shuffled across the grass until they sat parallel to one another. Shadowheart wore a long black dress with slits up the skirt that ended in silver fastenings at her hips, which made for a very convenient point of access for Lae’zel’s fingertips. She slid just under the hem gently caressing her way up Shadowheart’s knee and onto her thigh, warmed by the sun. She lifted her long nails as they neared the thin, more sensitive stretched of skin on the inside and around her legs, just ghosting and grazing her with the tips of her nails.

“Reciprocity,” Shadowheart whispered, “why yes, actually, I may know what you mean.” There was one way in which Shadowheart was allowed to give and not just received. It was small enough that Shar hadn’t yet taken it from them. Shadowheart grinned into the kiss that she pressed, first into the side of Lae’zel’s mouth, and then against her lips as she guided her face around with the blade of her thumb.

Shar will take this too. It was almost a voice, the idea struck Lae’zel’s mind so suddenly and violently that she actually faltered, then tried to force her way through it, even as she slid her tongue past Shadowheart’s teeth, skating against the roof of her mouth. She felt Shadowheart tremble, and knew that unfortunately, it was likely because she’d felt it too.

As a Chosen of the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart had gradually developed a mantle. For Shar’s purposes, and, Lae’zel supposed, Shadowheart’s by extension, it was an invaluable tool.

For all other purposes it was a damned nuisance.

It is all for the Darkness, and Darkness will shroud all.

Shadowheart’s breath hitched, and she stopped, hand firm at Lae’zel’s jaw.

Gritting her teeth, Lae’zel held very still. It would just take a moment. They just needed to let it wash over them.

There was nothing else that could be done, so Lae’zel focused on Shadowheart, on her heartbeat and her breathing. They fell in sync with each other, on reflex, their pulses dancing as each pressure point on their entwined bodies found a match, and wove a rhythm together. Lae’zel didn’t know what this dance was like on Shadowheart’s side of things, but for Lae’zel, it was all a matter of countering Shar’s every attempt at draining them of all life and feeling with more than she could take. They just needed to keep living, keep feeling.

Lae’zel nuzzled against Shadowheart’s throat with her lips, feeling Shadowheart’s tension released and climb again as her touch grew more insistent. Five and a half years, and they’d barely managed a dozen such afternoons together. Each one was full, however. They never took anything for granted. They couldn’t.

But in the back of her mind, Lae’zel could hear Shar’s whispered reminders that there was simply nothing in existence that couldn’t be drawn into a void. She bent, broke and devoured light itself.

And Shadowheart’s movements were slack and lifeless after a few more desperate moments of passion. Lae’zel leaned back and saw the very essence of absence in her eyes. Her face was serene, but not at peace. Just. Empty.

She’d had nightmares about this happening before. During the long stretches of time away from Baldur’s Gate, usually from this very plane of existence, Lae’zel would think about all the things that could be either so full, or utterly meaningless. She used to regard sex as little more than good exercise and ephemeral relief, but it had never been like that with Shadowheart. Good exercise, sometimes, but ephemeral it was not. And it was barely relieved if she was honest; their time together was too overwhelming, too overwrought with everything they couldn’t have and desperately wanted. Shadowheart had taught her many things, including the agony of being with someone, and still longing for them with the sweet, sickening knowledge that you could never really have them.

“Shadowheart?” Lae’zel looked at her blank expression, afraid that they had perhaps, already had their last real moments together, and neither of them had known it. Her dread deepened when Shadowheart didn’t respond right away.

“It’s fine if we don’t,” she didn’t sound present any longer. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Lae’zel realized she didn’t even feel disappointment, because besides the dread, she wasn’t feeling anything.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

“Perhaps you’re right,” and it didn’t hurt to say it, because nothing hurt.

Nearby, Scratch whined, seemingly unwilling to approach them. His ears drooped. His silver-adorned claws flashed in the lowering light, as he seemed anxious to be going away. “I should take him back,” Lae’zel said vaguely. They hadn’t made plans to see each other again, but as she rose up and left everything she’d brought with her on the hill, Lae’zel didn’t know why she’d care.

It wasn’t until half a mile later when her feet hit paved road that she started to come back to herself. Shar had momentarily wiped her of all feeling, successfully. And she’d used Shadowheart to do it.

But, it only took this realization, and an affectionate lick on Lae’zel’s palm from a concerned Scratch for her to understand in full, what had been taken from them, not just that afternoon, but in the long stretch of days that came before and that would come after.

The best way to combat Shar was to feel.

And Lae’zel felt rage. 

[thisisnotmeta]

Million Dollar Man

Chapter 2

-

The train journey to London unfolded with a continuous hum, a rhythmic repetition of tracks beneath its carriage wheels. I leaned against the window, gazing into the passing landscape that morphed into its own mosaic of fleeting images. The city sprawling out before me, a canvas painted with the subtle hues of the afternoon.

Ben messaged me a couple of days ago inviting me to Jack Hatton’s (lead of streaming at Dirty Hit) leaving party in London - I made a mental note of the fact that he was leaving to move to Australia with his girlfriend - incase I needed a conversation topic… just for my socially anxious brain. As much as I was excited to meet more of the team and potentially the artists, my enthusiasm mingled with a thick layer of apprehension.

The city lights flickered in the distance, casting shadows on my skin as I considered the people I could potentially encounter there - industry insiders, artists of the label, potentially new… friends? The invitation felt like a pass into a realm where my burgeoning career could intertwine with the established echelons of the music industry and it made me feel slightly sick, especially since I was going in alone.

Stepping onto London’s turf, I deliberately chose a hotel in Canary Wharf, paid for by yours truly - this choice being highlighted by my newfound but still modest monthly income courtesy of Dirty Hit. With a sense of fiscal responsibility guiding me, I made a conscious decision to specifically allocate these earnings towards my career and music in general (ie. Travel, hotels, instruments) - the frivolous expenditures can be done by my part time job at home, I thought.

Unpacking with ease, I had some time to kill before needing to get ready. The hotel, strategically positioned just a 15-minute walk from the venue, became my new hub. The TV emitted a soft glow, casting an ephemeral light on the hotel room. Mindless reruns of “Victorious” played in the background, their laughter and scripted drama a distant hum. Perched on the edge of the bed, I idly observed the characters on the screen. At just 23, I couldn’t shake the subtle unease about the most definite generation gap I would be encountering at the party.

What am I getting into? I mused, scrutinising my own reflection in the TV’s muted light.

The likely attendees loomed in my mind. I always strive to never care about how I will be perceived in times like this but it gets the better of me here. Would they see me as a songwriter? Or just another one trying to get by as an amateur artist like every other angsty young adult. Am I truly just crashing a party beyond my years? Do I sound like an absolute idiot right now?

My apprehension found a bit of refuge in the idea that there’s a few youthful signings to Dirty Hit in the recent years - hopefully they don’t cancel like I was contemplating to do a few minutes ago.

In the lingering hours leading up to the event, I settle into a quiet rhythm, my fingers dancing across the strings of my guitar. Quietly strumming to not upset anyone next door, the melodies echoed through the room. Jotting down anything that resonated with me on my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles notebook, I sought solace in the familiar embrace of my instrument, using it as my own vessel to get out the jumble of nerves and excitement within me.

My upcoming encounter with Matty Healy on the ‘songwriting getaway’ loomed large in my mind. He has a profound reputation for his creative mind, occasionally flirting with pretentiousness, but an intricate and enviable mind nonetheless. Would he see the potential in my songwriting?

The weight of his potential judgement fuelled my determination to impress him with the depth of my ideas. A fangirl moment interrupted my thoughts as the realisation struck - Matty might be at the party. It wasn’t even an outlandish notion either; after all, he was apart of the label, a big part at that. The mere possibility that the entirely of The 1975 might grace the event sent a shiver down my spine. Amid the brief reverie, I needed to refocus.

I want to show him good work.

A few more minutes of brainstorming and writing down ideas pass. “We all look for heaven, and we put love first,” was a phrase born from the introspective haze of my disassociation. I wrote down a few more ideas to pair with it - I liked it, it was earnest and real… hopefully others would think the same.

Glancing at my phone, the numbers told me there were still two and a half hours left. I nudged myself off of the bed and started the practical task of getting ready for the night. The shower became a sanctuary, the hot water cascading over me, it was a welcoming embrace after the lingering residue of travelling. As steam filled the bathroom, I closed my eyes, letting the warmth wash away not just the physical grime but the lingering nerves that clung to my skin.

Turning off the shower, I stood before the mirror, my damp hair awaiting transformation - fingers crossed. After drying, I curled and weaved strands into pin curls, a skill passed down from my mum. The familiarity of the routine was comforting. Makeup followed, the unfamiliar intensity of liner, mascara and slightly over-lined lips were a subtle nod at my newfound insecurity in my maturity. It made me look a little more mature, I guess. My hold-all offered a few choices of different outfits. I selected an off-the-shoulder black lace top, low-waisted jeans that hugged my hips and point-heeled boots to complete the ensemble. I surveyed myself in the mirror, definitely passable for the evening. With fourty-five precious minutes ticking down, I unraveled the pin curls, each strand dropping down into place showing a nice ‘blowout’ style. The air filled with the sweet embrace of my perfume, a final touch to my persona tonight.

Turning to my phone, I couldn’t resist the urge to take a couple selfies before heading out - I’m Gen Z, give me a break. Downstairs, the bar beckoned with the confident offering of liquid courage. I approached, I definitely need something strong. Ordering a double vodka, lemonade and a splash of blackcurrant, I winced as the contactless reader slapped me with a hefty £12.00 charge. Ah, London prices. The glass in my hand became my talisman, my elixir to bolster my resolve. As I sipped the time away, nerves tingled beneath my skin.

The party was likely in full swing by now, but my strategic calculations told me that arriving 30 minutes later meant most would be deep into their second drink, too dizzy to give me more than a fleeting thought. I nursed my drink, eyeing the clock, unwilling to dish out another £12 when a free bar awaited me at the venue. As I contemplated moving to a more comfortable spot a few feet away from the bar, my phone lit up with a message from Ben.

Eta?

Pre drinking alone at the bar haha. My university student brain is fried at London prices.

Nice lol, thought you weren’t coming for a sec. See you later.

Finishing the remnants of my drink, I relished the familiar burn as the liquid slid down. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses around me formed an antithetical soundtrack to the city’s docile pulse outside, excluding the occasional taxi driving past. I found a comfortable refuge in the short time i’d sat here, not really finding it in my feet to leave yet. The dim lighting cast a warm glow, creating their own little pockets of intimacy. A plush, but old-fashioned patterned carpet absorbed people’s footsteps, and the scent of aged wood and polished brass lingered in the air.

Pulling up the venue’s address on my phone, I looked at the walking journey on my screen. Google maps being my sacred guide through the labyrinth that is London streets - and oh, what I would do without it. And I know what you’re thinking: Camille, why the fuck are you planning on walking the streets of London at night alone? That is, my angels, because I am a cheap bitch and I refuse to spend £5 for a 3 minute car journey - I will just take my chances.

With a final glance at my phone, I examined the reflection staring back at me - not bad. I absolutely didn’t look like I was overcompensating for being an absolute nobody/foetus at this party.

Popping off the high bar chair, I smoothed down my top, my fingers brushing against the lace. As I reached the exit, the city’s climate bared itself to me, pinchingly cold air wafted onto me. The initial opening of the door was bad, but once I was outside, I was able to absorb most of the coolness. The glow of the streetlights guiding my way, casting a golden hue on the pavement.

At the end of my very safe -actually- walk, I was greeted by the bright LED sign that boldly announced the bar venue - ‘Pergola On The Wharf’. The glowing letters ambient against the night sky, like a beacon to draw people in. I could hear the muffled laughter and music through the refined brick walls. Stepping underneath the halo of the sign, I took a moment to myself, letting the good vibes and energy seep onto me. I made a mental commitment to let go of any lingering anxiety and embrace what could be a really fun night ahead. Maybe I’ll find Ben or I could introduce myself to other producers, or maybe even talk to Holly or Jamie.

Putting everything behind me, I stepped through the door of the bustling nexus of a bar. Unfolding everything before me, it was flooded with an array of unfamiliar faces, each one adorned with a concoction of some type of alcohol in their hand, laughter bubbling from every corner.

Groups of people, all talking together to make a harmonious cacophony, were scattered across the contemporary styled and what looked like plant-filled botanical bar. Lush ferns, vines, and vibrant flora adorned every corner and ceiling pane, creating a natural abundance of decoration. The vast glass window at the back offered a panoramic view of the dock outside, hinting that this bar probably had an inundation of bright, natural light during the daytime - which was a stark contrast to the glowing, candle-lit evening tonight. The aroma through the air was an intoxicating blend of florals and oud. A faint hint of cigarettes clung to people’s knitwear and thick clothing, adding a touch of ease to the ambiance.

Navigating through the basically sea of people, I looked around for any familiar faces. Some people danced energetically on the makeshift dance floor, lost in the rhythmic allure of the older club classics spun by the DJ in the corner, whilst others gathered in clusters, sat and stood all around. Amidst the crowd, I saw someone at the bar that caught my eye - a girl, roughly my age, who I knew just recently signed a deal with Dirty Hit, just a couple of months before me. She was engaged in a conversation with an unfamiliar face as they were paying for their drinks.

Seizing the opportunity to make some new friends, I made my way over, introducing myself with a smile. “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting, but I don’t really know anyone here. I’m Camille, I just signed with Dirty Hit a couple of months ago.”

“Hey! No, you’re totally fine,” her thick Scottish accent welcomed me warmly, the girl next to her turning also with a friendly grin. “I’m Isla and this is Sorcha. I was signed a few months ago as well so I don’t really know anyone here, so I thought I’d bring a plus one.”

“I didn’t even realise you could bring someone,” I laughed. “I wish I brought someone from home because honestly, an hour ago I was debating not even coming.”

“Oh, there was no plus ones allowed,” Isla replied in a hush, leaning in closer. “I just hope they think Sorcha’s one of the interns!”

Isla, a girl with unmistakable Scottish charm, stood out with her gorgeous, curly, ginger hair that tumbled in a cascade of vibrant, thick waves. Her fair skin bore the artistry of delicately placed freckles, and a bright smile that creased her eyes. Next to her, Sorcha was a striking contrast with her tanned complexion. Her long straight black hair flowed with a sleek elegance, framing her face and adding a touch of shine. Sorcha’s features were chiseled, embodying a blend of modernity but classic allure at the same time. They both were gorgeous and looked like a dynamic duo only seen in movies.

We found a comfortable spot at the bar, and talked about what we were working on in our early days being signed at our label. Sorcha was still in University, studying media and radio in hopes to have her own radio show one day. Isla was found via TikTok and had amassed an impressive following of 70k for her covers before she was scouted. She had been working with one of Dirty Hit’s partner producers in Scotland to save the constant trips, and is looking at releasing her first single in the next few weeks, which is so exciting.

“It’s called ‘Do I Have Your Attention?’, it’s basically a slow, acoustic song about my relationship with my family. I’m really proud of it,” she beams, circling her finger around the glass top of her cocktail.

“Honestly, that’s so exciting,” I smile at her. “I’ll keep an eye out for it when it’s out!”

“Aw, yeah, you should give me a text and let me know what you think about it!” Isla replies as she grabs her phone out of her pocket and slides it over to me. “Put your number in, always good to stay in touch with each other!”

Whilst putting my number in her phone, it seemed like a perfect time to grab a drink. I perused the menu, green circular stickers next to certain drinks indicated what was and wasn’t apart of the included drinks tab tonight. Opting for a French martini, I joined the conversation again, mentally wiping the sweat off my forehead for finding people I could talk to.

“What are you working on right now?” Sorcha shifted the spotlight onto me.

“I’ve had a few sessions with a few producers to establish what sound I want to make, I think I’ve found my voice with one of them, so I’m excited to work with him again,” I say, thanking the bartender as he brought over my freshly made French Martini. “I actually got a call a week or so ago about if I was interested in going on a work getaway for a few days to make new music, so all I’m doing right now is just writing down anything I like or anything I think I could use in a song. The idea of showing off my ideas to them is so nerve wracking.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Isla chimed in with understanding, acknowledging the pressure in the industry. “Everyone has so much experience and is so creative, that it’s actually really anxiety inducing to show them what you’ve been working on, honestly I’m completely in the same boat. But everyone here is just so lovely.”

Her reassurance carried the weight of our shared anxiety, and I found comfort in her words. As we moved away from the bustling bar, standing amidst the lively crowd, Isla's curiosity veered toward the details of my upcoming musical getaway. I shared the scant information I had – a countryside location, collaboration with Ben, and the unexpected mention of Matty from The 1975 expressing interest in working with me, for some unknown reason.

"Matty Healy?" Sorcha's eyes widened, leaning in with genuine awe. Isla, equally surprised, exchanged glances with her friend. "Are you friends with him?"

I chuckled at Sorcha's enthusiasm and Isla's teasing nudges into her friend’s arm. The playful banter lightened the mood as I clarified that I wasn't friends with Matty, but rather, the prospect of collaborating with him was a part of the upcoming getaway.

Sorcha, in her unabashed love for Matty Healy, couldn't help but gush over the luck tied to the opportunity. Her cheeky question, a typical Love Island-esque move, drew an amused look from Isla. I navigated the topic, acknowledging Matty's attractiveness and creative prowess while trying to gracefully sidestep the "do you fancy him?" inquiry.

"I mean, he's definitely attractive," I replied with a hint of laughter, unsure how to navigate the question diplomatically. Admitting my admiration while surrounded by his friends and colleagues required a delicate balance of honesty and discretion. "I saw him at Leeds once, and, well, he was quite a sight."

Sorcha’s unabashed admiration for Matty echoed through the buzzing atmosphere of the party, her eyes scanning the room as if expecting the man of the hour to materialise. She turned back to face me, a mix of awe and envy painted on her face.

“I think he’s fucking stunning,” she declared, her gaze still darting around the venue in search of, to her, the elusive rock god. “I’m gonna be honest; I am so, so jealous of you right now. I’m absolutely in love with that man.”

“I know, it’s so surrea-“ I begin to share my thoughts with her, only to be abruptly cut off by Sorcha’s relentless proclamation of undying love for Matty Healy. Isla, seated beside her, sank slightly into her wooden chair, glancing between the two of us with a mixture of amusement, embarrassment and concern.

“The fact that he could even be in this room right now is driving me insane,” Sorcha continued, fervently expressing her infatuation and getting her point across (very much so) to me.

“I know it’s—“ I attempted to respond, but Sorcha’s enthusiasm overpowered any chance of a cohesive conversation.

“When you’re on your ‘getaway’ with him, you need to FaceTime me or something, she exclaimed, her excitement escalating as she fumbled for something in her purse. Suddenly, her phone emerged in her hand like a prized possession, and the conversation took a turn that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable, if I wasn’t already. “Then you can be like, ‘oh, this is my friend; I think you guys would get on well’ - something like that. Here, let me get your number!”

With the commotion, Isla sprang from her seat, nearly toppling over a woman in a black fur coat trying to navigate past her. The two exchanged hurried apologies before Isla seized Sorcha’s hand, pulling her away from the table.

“One sec, come with me to the toilet really quickly,” Isla instructed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sorcha replied, following Isla’s lead. Before disappearing into the crowd, she turned back, flashing a wide smile my way. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” I shoot her a polite closed mouth smile back at her, my attention then shifting to Isla. She mouthed a guilt-ridden ‘sorry’ before vanishing into the sea of people. Well, that was interesting. I couldn’t help but think that maybe avoiding Sorcha for the rest of the night might be a good idea, as endearing as her enthusiasm was.

Amidst that wild chaos of an interaction, I rose from my seat, scanning the crowded room for any familiar faces. At least I already filled an hour or so of being here.

Before I began walking around aimlessly, a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd, and I turned to see Ben waving from the back of the bar near the windows.

“Camille!” he called out, his thick curly hair falling just before his shoulders. His tanned skin was complimented by wearing a white button up and fitted dress trousers. I weaved through the pulsating mass of people, relieved to have found a familiar anchor in this place.

“How’s things?” Ben asked, taking me in a brief hug, careful not to spill his pint of cider in his hand. “Thought you were gonna bail.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, no, couldn’t miss out on a free bar, don’t be silly.”

“I know, think I’ve saved sixty pound already tonight,” he chucked, bringing his glass into the air, causing some of it to spill over the top. For someone who’s probably had 8/9 pints of cider now, he wasn’t overly drunk, just on a good wavelength I would say.

We caught up for a while, talking about what we’ve been doing since we last saw each other, which wasn’t long at all. Ben talked about the new audio interface that he’s just bought for the studio and how he’s excited to try it out with me. A lot of our conversation was about our upcoming getaway, touching on topics like our favourite takeaways and how we are actually going to the Cotswolds for a week to write, which was exciting as I’d heard that that place was one of the most beautiful places in the country!

“Do you smoke weed?” Ben asked casually, his gaze fixed on his now-empty pint of cider with a frown. “Totally fine if not, just I know Matty and I probably will be bringing some down with us… if you’re fine with it?”

“God, don’t even be silly, of course you can,” I reply with a laugh, fanning away his slight concern with my hand. I didn’t smoke a lot, but when I did, it would usually make my throat hurt the morning after, so I tend to stay away from it but edibles are another story. The amount of times me and my flatmates at university used up the last of our change in our pockets to buy laced Haribos after a long week of studying, I couldn’t count on my fingers. Those were the best times. “I’m not much into smoking, but I’ll fetch some gummies or brownies down as well, what do you think?”

“Honestly, that’s perfect,” he smiled at my offer, and we sealed our agreement with the clink of our empty glasses. “Think it really gets your mind going to places you can’t explore otherwise, great for writing, plus it just gets you chilled out, doesn’t it?”

I was about to reply when a hand was firmly placed on Ben’s shoulder, a black nicely fitting long sleeve and washed out blue jeans was the first glance I got of him. He excluded the smell of thick smoke and some sort of expensive alluring fragrance, he must’ve been outside for a cigarette and then reapplied his cologne just a couple minutes ago - that or the cologne was just that strong.

“Going to the bar, mate. You wanting the same again?” Matty asked raising his eyebrows, holding his empty glass and pointing at Ben’s with the same hand. His eyes briefly flickered to mine before doing a very obviously double take at me. “Oh hi, Darling, I should’ve introduced myself sooner. I’m Matty.”

“No, you’re fine!” I say quickly before I’m engulfed in a hug from him, his smell being even more intoxicating this close. Yeah, I get what Sorcha was saying now. “I’m Camille, how are you?”

“I know exactly who you are, I’ve been listening to your work with Ben for a bit,” he says, beaming between the two of us in front of him, clearly a lot more gone than Ben. “I’m great though, what are you drinking? I’ll fetch you back something.”

Before I could reply, Ben intervened by taking both mine and Matty’s glasses from our hands. “You’ve went and got my last two, Matty. I’ll get this next one. Same again?”

“Yeah, please, mate. Love you, mate, thank you,” he replied slightly slurring his words as he had both hands on Ben’s shoulders giving him an affectionate shake.

As Ben made his way towards the bar, it left us momentarily alone together in this hectic room of a party. I found myself just stood beside Matty, a subtle tension lingering in the air as if waiting for each other to speak first.

A sly grin crept across Matty’s face and I couldn’t help but return it.

[afaithfulfollower]

The Saviour Girl - Chapter One

“Little pig, little pig, let me in!” 

Dread became the massacre of hope when the people of Alexandria heard Negan knocking on their gate. They had power; power that Alexandria couldn't deny, therefore they were compelled to do as they were told – lest they all be lined up on their knees and be executed. 

Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria, was frozen in shock; rage and fear creating a mixture of confliction that interfered with his sense of logic. He didn't expect Negan to show up at his doorstep so early, especially after forcing them into submission at the line up not too long ago. Rick never wanted to kill somebody so badly in his entire life, and yet, with all that anger and fury built inside, it caused Rick to tremble when the other part of him wanted to keep his people alive. Preserving his rage was something Rick wasn't sure he could control, but it was the only way to ensure that he could avenge Glenn and Abraham. 

As the afternoon sun shone down on Alexandria from the north, a figure's silhouette was cast onto the old, rusty gate and the cover that prevented any hungry eyes from straying at the gate for too long. In this case, it was much worse than flesh-eaters. 

It was the Saviors, coming to take what they wanted. 

As the gate was opened, the silhouette became visible, where a man wearing a leather jacket, holding a barbed wire bat, stood on the other side, with a grin spreading from ear to ear. Negan, the king of the Saviors, felt even happier once he saw Rick and the rest of Alexandria gathered around on the other side of the gate to witness him ruling over them, by making an unexpected appearance to ensure that he had them by the leash. 

“What do you want?” Rick curtly asked after he was asked to open the gate for Negan and his troops. 

“Well, good afternoon to you too, Rick. I thought we would pay you a little visit and take some weight off your shoulders.” Negan greeted him with much enthusiasm. “You see, last night, I was in my room, thinking about what was missing. Was it a fancy chair? No. Was it a nice portrait of George motherfucking Washington? Hell no. I was thinking… more guns. And you know what you have, Rick? More goddamn guns that we need, and you don't. But on my way here, I realized, ‘shit, my people need stuff too, so I'll ask Rick to let me have half of his shit.’ ” 

Rick noticed the delivery trucks that were part of the convoy. Those trucks were driven deeper into Alexandria, where the Saviors began to pillage most of what Alexandria owned. Negan then ordered Rick to give him a tour of Alexandria, to which Negan promptly led them around while Rick was tasked with looking after Lucile – Negan's bat, named after his late, first wife.

Saviors were seen carrying couches, chairs, boxes of goods and guns out to their trucks. 

“Anything else you want to take from us?!” Someone shouted, sniding incredulously. 

A girl with long, brown hair had been standing out on the street, irately watching the Saviours as they took some stuff from her house. She could do nothing, as she had already voiced her disapproval of them taking anything they wanted. One Savior even had the audacity to mock her for having balloons. 

Another girl who was present in transporting goods into the trucks, had stopped for a moment, where both girls locked eyes. She mentally noted the undeniable beauty of the brunette, and the sparkle of her jade orbs. The Savior glanced down at the girl's arms where they were folded underneath her breasts, where she noticed in particular, an intriguing purple, blue and pink bracelet. 

Upon realizing that she was staring at her bracelet and possibly wanted it for herself, the green-eyed girl dropped her arms and hid her bracelet arm behind her back. Her features hardened, determination settling in to ensure that she didn't lose the one thing that meant a lot to her. 

“Hey,” a stray, masculine voice called. 

A man looking five foot ten in height, approached the two girls, specifically eyeing the resident.

“You got somethin’ she wants,” said the man. 

The brunette’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes darting back to her bracelet, then back up to his menacing gaze. 

“No. It’s mine. I’m not letting you take it.” She argued, putting her foot down firmly to let them know she would not allow them to oppress her like they did with Alexandria. 

“I wasn’t asking. Take. It. Off.” 

She knew there was no point in arguing, so while she remained unscathed, she hastily took off her bracelet out of frustration and she extended her hand out to him. Emotions started to swell within her when the bracelet was snatched from her palm, which seemingly amused the taller Savior, in comparison to the younger one, who felt remorseful for even looking her way. 

“Good girl,” said the man as he resumed filling the truck with goods. 

A shiver ran through the girl’s body as his words carried discomfort. When she realised that the other girl was still standing there, holding her bracelet, she tightened her jaw and spun on her heels so that her back was to her, and she stormed off. 

Not long after, the Saviors had finished taking from the residents of Alexandria and they began to leave to head back to the Sanctuary, but only after they willfully did as Negan ordered, which was to burn everything they'd stolen. 

The girl who'd been robbed of her bracelet had been grumpy for the rest of the day. Even those who called her friend, noticed her attitude, but were unsuccessful in cheering her up. To avoid any more undesired attention, the girl waited a while before she snuck out of her house and headed to find a specific wall where she could climb over. 

Her hands were barely sore from the climbing, as she'd become used to doing it so often – almost on a regular basis. Once she was on the other side, she dropped down with care and made off in a jog to a secret spot, where she had comic books and the like, scattered around for her to read while time flew past. 

She sat down on a log and picked up a comic book and read it. A hollow tree to her left kept her company; offering shelter should any stray walkers wander too closely. On said tree, was a message carved, which read, ‘Enid was here’. 

Enid, which was the name of the girl sitting on the log, became oblivious to the world around her. Reading comic books was her refuge and solace, as well as a reminder of a time before the apocalypse. Once upon a time, she treated others coldly, not daring to attract any fondness to those whom she was terrified of losing; which was the case after she lost her parents who died right in front of her. 

Now eighteen and alone, Enid had nothing left. Not even the bracelet her parents got for her for her sixteenth birthday. 

Emotions came crashing in like a tidal wave on Enid, causing a disruption of attention on the slightly worn paper book in her hands. Her bottom lip quivered, hands trembling with a frightening might as the book rattled in her hands. Sobs broke out from her mouth as she found it extremely difficult to hold it together any longer; she gave on almost immediately and Enid cried, wishing that she still had her parents, or at the very least, wished that she'd died with them. 

After some time, Enid managed to compose herself. Her glassy eyes took notice of where the sun was through the trees. With a rough estimate on what time it was, Enid wiped her tears and made her return to Alexandria before anyone could get suspicious or worried. 

While the world had gone to shit, Alexandria had managed to maintain some semblance of normalcy through electricity that enabled the good people of Alexandria to use appliances, lights, and other utilities. Even when others had access to such things, everyone often gathered into other people’s houses to celebrate every week, every month, their surviving the apocalypse. 

But things have changed, again… 

Enid silently climbed down from the wall and dropped to the ground. She looked at the front gate, where she noticed Father Gabriel, the town priest, standing guard, staring aimlessly at the dark and the indiscernible road. He held a Bible in his hand, hoping that he could reach out to God for hope.

Nobody was around to catch Enid sneaking in, which relieved her as she snuck across the street towards her home. 

As she came up towards the steps of her porch, Enid spotted something hanging from the door handle. Her brows furrowed, knitting a confused expression, as she approached the door and withdrew the object that was left there. 

“My bracelet…” Enid gasped. 

Even though she had no reason to, Enid looked over her shoulder to see if she could catch anybody spying on her interacting with her remitted personal item. A smile ghosted her lips, forming an illicit reaction of both doubt and relief; happiness for having her bracelet restored, but also skepticism towards the Savior that returned said bracelet. 

Were they all as bad as she heard, or did some still have part of their humanity still intact?