#this one's so weird i hope people like it

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pushy reporters, Carlos Sainz Sr is a little bit of a villain in this chapter (sry).

Notes — I feel like so much happens in this chapter and I love it. Also: tysm for 500 followers!!🧡

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peacn x

2019

She hadn’t planned to cross through the garages; it just happened. Amelia was following a technician back from a briefing when she lost track of the conversation and the path, her thoughts spiralling through gearbox data and tyre deltas.

That’s when she heard it. Her name. Loud. Sharp. 

“Miss Brown.”

She stopped. Pivoted.

Carlos Sainz Sr. stood a few feet away, hands behind his back. 

He wasn’t smiling.

“You are the daughter of our team’s CEO, yes?” he asked.

Amelia nodded. “Yes.”

“You spend a lot of time in the garages,” he said. “Too much, I think.”

She frowned at him. “I— I help.” She told him. 

“Right,” he said, and his face did a strange twist. “But with Carlos, my son, it is important he has focus. Space.”

She stared at him, unsure what he was trying to imply. “Carlos told me that I was allowed in his garage as often as I like.”

“He would,” Sainz Sr. said. “He is polite. A respectful boy. But it is not always good to blur lines between personal and professional.” He paused. “It could cause problems.”

Amelia stood perfectly still.

“I’m not causing problems,” she said, a bit too flatly. 

Sainz Sr. regarded her a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Good. I hope it remains that way. Distance, por favor.”

He turned and walked off, leaving her standing in the middle of the paddock walkway, her yellow water bottle pressed tightly to the base of her stomach.

She didn’t move for a long moment.

Her chest felt tight, but not like sadness; not exactly. It was the feeling of a… system error. A mismatch. She couldn’t understand what she’d possibly done wrong.

Carlos hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with her presence. He asked her thoughts on setup changes. Let her hover near the monitors during debriefs. He’d even nudged her elbow pre-quali and whispered, “Wish me luck.”

That didn’t feel like someone who did not want her around. 

Swiftly, she made her way back to Lando’s garage. Slow and quiet, avoiding eye contact. Lando waved at her from where he was talking to Jon, but she didn’t wave back. Just sat down beside a stack of unused tyre blankets and stared at the concrete floor.

Her fingers fidgeted, tugged at her sleeves. She didn’t cry. She didn’t really feel anything, other than... a disorienting sense of being wrong.

She thought of the conversation on loop. Trying to decode it. Trying to figure out how she’d accidentally made an enemy out of Carlos Sainz Sr.

She couldn’t focus. Not on the setup sheets. Not on the chatter from the engineers. Not even on the low buzz of the paddock outside.

She started working hard to anchor herself to something familiar. The smell of tyre rubber. The click of Lando’s cooling fan. The buzz of telemetry feeds looping on a nearby monitor. Safe things.

“You hiding, or working?” came Will Joseph’s voice, low and even.

She glanced up. Lando’s race engineer stood a few feet away, clipboard in hand.

“Hiding,” she told him. That’s what it felt like she was doing, anyway. 

Will nodded. Then he crouched down in front of her, elbows on his knees. “Wanna talk about it?”

Amelia tugged the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. She hesitated. “I don’t think I did anything wrong. But… I think I have made somebody angry.”

His jaw jumped. “Yeah? Someone in the team?”

She gave a small nod.

Will glanced sideways. His voice stayed calm, but there was a weird tightness when he said, “If you want me to talk to them, I will.”

Amelia frowned. “It’s okay. I don’t want to… make it worse.”

“You sure?” He asked.

She looked away. “Yes.” She said, eventually. 

He paused, then stood, still watching her. “Okay. But if you change your mind… you know where I am.”

She nodded. Will turned as if to go, but then glanced back at her again.

“You want to look over brake traces with me?” he asked. 

She stood slowly, gripping her yellow water bottle. “Yes.”

Will gave a small smile. “Knew you would.”

--

It was Sunday, and her garage smelled like grease and old metal and comfort.

Amelia was elbow-deep in the engine bay of her BMW, sleeves rolled up and a thin streak of oil smudged across her cheek. Jazz played softly from the old radio by the workbench, and a fan hummed lazily in the corner, stirring the warm spring air. She was in her zone — focused, grounded, calm.

She didn’t hear the car pull up. But she did hear the familiar sound of her father’s golf shoes on the concrete. 

She turned just in time to see them step inside.

Her dad was in his usual race-less Sunday outfit, white sleeves shoved to the elbows, cap pushed back on his head. Beside him, Lando Norris stood in golf clothes; white polo, khaki trousers, hair a little messy. He looked slightly sunburned.

“Thought we’d swing by for dinner,” her dad told her, a big smile on his face. “We got finished up early today.”

Lando lifted a hand and waved at her. “Hey.”

Amelia stared at him. “You’re wearing real shoes,” she said.

Lando glanced down at his golf trainers. “Yeah. I know. Weird, right?”

Her dad ignored both of them, already wandering over to inspect the engine. “You’ve done the belts,” he noted.

“I did the belts yesterday,” Amelia told him, still staring at Lando.

Having him here felt… odd. This was her space, her house, her garage. The place where everything made sense, where she could retreat from the world and lose herself in the rhythm of machinery.

Then again, she considered, she was always in his garage. This was just the other way around, really.

Lando shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Your dad said dinner was happening. I didn’t really get a say.”

She shrugged. “You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” Lando agreed. He was smiling at her. “But then I wouldn’t get free food. And apparently your mum’s making roast potatoes.”

“She puts garlic in them,” Amelia told him. She turned back to watch her dad, making sure he wasn’t touching anything. Or worse, moving anything. 

“She sounds like a genius.” Lando said behind her. 

Her dad pushed the hood higher, eyes inspecting the wiring, and let out a low hum of approval. “Right. Dinner in twenty,” he said, glancing at both of them, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “Lando, you coming inside?”

Lando wiped his hands on his trousers, then glanced back at Amelia, clearly unsure. “Might stay out here for a bit,” he said with a slight shrug.

He paused, eyes flicking between them. He seemed to weigh the situation for a second before speaking again, more slowly this time. “That okay with you, Amelia?” 

She looked over at him. Shrugged. “Fine.” 

Her dad nodded and gave them both one last look before walking out of the garage and toward the house. He started whistling somewhere along the way. Amelia grimaced, shoulders inching toward her ears. 

There was a beat of silence. Amelia crouched beside the car, fingers working a stubborn bolt. Lando just hovered. 

“This place is sick.” He said, eventually. 

She looked at him and then around the absolute chaos that was her workspace. “It’s a mess,” she said.

“Yeah, but like… a cool mess. Suits you.” He shrugged. 

She made a face, nose scrunching, eyebrows lowering. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” 

“It’s a compliment.” He said. “Like… you fit in here.” 

Oh. Well. That was nice of him to say. Fitting in wasn’t something she usual excelled at.  

The bolt finally gave way with a soft click, and she exhaled, satisfied.

Lando took a step closer, leaning in to peek at the engine. “So what are you working on now?”

She handed him the bolt without thinking. He closed his fist around it. “Timing chain.”

“Oh. Sick.”

“You keep saying that word.” She told him. 

“I’ve got a limited vocabulary,” he said with a half-smile, sliding the bolt into his pocket. She narrowed her eyes. “Mine now. Finders keepers.”

“I hate that saying.” She muttered, not asking for the bolt back. She didn’t need it. Maybe he did. “Do you like chicken?” she asked abruptly.

“Sure.” He nodded.

“Good.” She sighed. “It’s all my mom knows how to cook.”

“Mom,” he repeated, mimicking her accent.

She frowned. “You’re quite annoying.”

He grinned, the lines next to his eyes deepening. “I know. Want me to get you a drink or something?”

Her gaze flicked to her yellow water bottle, standing out like a warning sign against the cold steel of the garage. Then to him. Her mind caught on the image of him picking it up, his hand unscrewing the lid, closing it again. It wasn’t even anything weird. Just… she didn’t like it. Not today.

Her stomach did a small, unwelcome swoop.

“No,” she said, sharp. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he replied simply. 

She squinted at him. This would be the perfect moment to bring up his social media. She had a whole list saved in her notes app; bullet points and everything. Of things he could post that would improve long-term brand perception, boost fan engagement, attract sponsor interest. She’d even colour-coded it.

But then he leaned a little closer to the engine bay, poked a stray wire with the back of his finger, and asked, “What does that do?”

And instead of launching into a Twitter audit, she blinked. Then sighed. Then said, “That’s not a wire. It’s the gas belt.”

He just looked at her. “That sounds made up.”

“It isn’t.” She crouched beside him and pointed. “It’s part of the pressure regulation loop. If it’s too tight, the fuel intake timing offsets and we lose energy recovery.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at it. “I thought it was just a spare wire.”

“It’s never just a spare wire.” 

She didn’t plan to spend an hour explaining the entire energy recovery system to a man who literally drove race cars for a living. But she did. And he listened. Asked questions. Didn’t pretend to know more than he did.

Dinner came and went. Her mom popped her head in, said she’d keep their plates warm. Amelia didn’t even realise how long they’d been in the garage until her dad came to check if they were still alive.

“What’ve you two been up to?” He asked.

And Lando, still squatting beside the car with grease on his knuckles, said, “She taught me how a gas belt works.”

Amelia felt her lips twist into a smile before she could stop it.

Her dad laughed, loud and full of something Amelia couldn’t place. 

Lando’s cheeks went a bit pink. 

—

By the time the Spanish Grand Prix rolled around, one thing had become evident.

The Renault engine was going to be a problem.

It wasn’t just an occasional glitch or a minor calibration error — it was systemic. Structural. A pattern beginning to take shape. Carlos had already been forced to retire from the first two races. Lando hadn’t made it past lap twenty in China. And now, in Spain, he was pulling into the garage mid-race with smoke curling out from the rear. 

Amelia didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The telemetry screens told her more than enough — voltage spikes, temperature climbs, the dreaded red-highlighted warnings blinking across the console in angry bursts.

She watched from her usual spot, perched on the edge of the engineering desk with her notebook balanced on her knee. The frustration in the air was sticky. 

This was becoming predictable. Usually, she would like that — this was not one of those times.

After the race, she found herself lingering in the quiet corner of the garage, sketching out hypothetical flow improvements in the margins of her notebook. She didn’t work on the engines — not directly, not yet. But she could see the shape of the problem, the flaw in the systems approach. She could feel it humming under her fingertips like a code waiting to be cracked.

Across the paddock, celebrations echoed from the teams that had made it to the finish. The podium champagne had already been popped. But in Lando’s garage, it felt like they were all waiting out a storm that they already knew was coming.

She pressed her pen to the page and underlined a note she’d written hours ago, before the race had even started.

"Energy efficiency doesn’t matter if the engine won’t survive the lap."

She sighed and capped her pen. In the background, someone was wheeling the scorched power unit away for inspection.

Maybe she should’ve warned them louder.

— 

She found him in his driver’s room, slouched in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. His helmet was discarded on the floor, and he was still in his fireproof suit, half-zipped. Amelia hesitated outside the door for a second, wondering if she should just leave him alone. But Lando had left his water bottle in the garage, and Amelia wasn’t the best at letting things slide. She wasn’t sure why it felt important to bring it to him, but it did.

She knocked softly on the already-open door before walking in. Lando didn’t even look up. He was just staring at the wall. 

“I brought your water,” Amelia told him. 

He looked up at her then. “Thanks,” he muttered as he reached for the bottle, shoving the straw into his mouth and taking a long gulp. “Second DNF in five races,” he said, his voice rough. “Rookie season, and this is what I get.”

After a second of hesitation, Amelia sat on the beanbag chair across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She didn't say anything at first — just looked at him. She wasn’t sure how this worked, whether she needed to talk first or wait for him. 

Eventually, Lando exhaled through his nose and kept going, his words starting to pick up speed. “I don’t even know what went wrong this time. One minute, I’m fighting for position, and then it just… dies. The engine. The whole thing. It’s like I’m cursed, or something.”

“Curses aren’t real,” Amelia said, frowning. “Drink more water. I think you might be dehydrated.”

He laughed, but it was short, and it didn’t feel genuine. “Yeah, well. Maybe I deserve to be dehydrated.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she sighed, reaching up to itch her neck. She was pretty sure that she’d started to develop a stress rash somewhere around the tenth lap. 

“I know it doesn’t,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. “I just… I keep replaying it. I did everything right. I kept the pace, I managed the tyres, I even—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “I’m trying so hard. Every week. And it still ends the same way.”

Amelia tilted her head. “Trying hard doesn’t guarantee results. Statistically, a mechanical failure is not a reflection of your driving ability.”

“Yeah, but people don’t see it like that, do they? Sponsors don’t see it like that. Fans don’t see it like that. They see a DNF next to my name and think “Ah, that lad’s shit. Couldn’t even finish the race.”

“They’re wrong,” she said, voice steady. “You can’t control the engine.”

He looked at her, like he was searching for something on her face. “That’s not really comforting, you know.”

“I’m not trying to be comforting,” she shrugged. “I’m telling you the truth.”

A beat passed. Then he let out a breath and leaned his head back against the wall, his shoulders finally sagging a little. “Still… it sucks.”

She watched him for a moment, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I made a chart,” she told him. “About Renault’s historical DNF rates. You’re not even in the worst percentile.”

He blinked at her, and for the first time that day, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You made a chart?”

“I like charts,” she said. “They help me make sense of things. Maybe they’ll be able to help you too. I colour coded.”

Lando unfolded the paper and scanned it, a soft breath of laughter escaping him. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Amelia blinked. “In what way?”

He didn’t answer that, just kept smiling at the paper like it had done something remarkable. Which it hadn’t. It was a simple data set, neatly formatted, with pink for DNF, green for points finishes, and orange for races affected by mechanical issues but still completed. She had used bold font for his name and added a tiny asterisk explaining why none of it was technically his fault.

“You should remember that every time your engine has survived, you have finished in the points,” she said, because facts were important when emotions got loud. “And the season’s not over yet.”

Lando looked up at her. “Thanks, Amelia.”

His voice was quiet, yes, but there was something else layered in the tone, something that made her chest feel tight in a way she couldn’t immediately categorise. She frowned, not at him, but at the sensation itself.

There were variables she didn’t have control over. Facial expressions. Tone. Context. She could usually work it out when someone was mad, or distracted, or lying. But fondness… that was harder. It was inconsistent. Often irrational. Frequently confusing.

She pointed at his water bottle because that was easy. “You should still drink the water.”

He smiled again, this time more to himself, and shook his head. Then he picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid, just like she knew he would.

As he drank, Amelia watched him carefully. Maybe, she thought, tucking her hands back into her lap, she just needed to collect more data in order to be able to fully understand Lando Norris.

— 

iMessage — 17:09pm

Max F. Sorry about the shit luck, mate. Engine again?

Lando Norris Yeah. Just shut off mid-corner. Didn’t even get a warning this time. Proper embarrassing.

Max F. Not your fault. That Renault engine’s a grenade with wires.

Lando Norris Yh that’s what Amelia said kinda She made a chart

Max F. A chart?

Lando Norris Yeah. With colours Fucking cute

Max F. Whipped. 

Lando Norris

Yh 

— 

She liked the Mercedes hospitality unit. Neutrally designed, air-conditioned, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus. She liked that a lot.

Amelia walked slowly, phone in hand. 

There was no sign of Lewis or Roscoe when she stepped inside, just the low hum of quiet conversations and the click of cutlery. She turned left, toward the usual corner where Roscoe liked to sleep in the sunbeam from the long vertical window.

She didn’t make it that far.

“Amelia.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

Toto Wolff stood halfway down the hallway. In a dark polo. Arms crossed. He was very tall. 

“Hello,” she said. She meant to say it with some level of confidence, but it came out more like a question.

“I was hoping we might speak.” His tone was hard for her to read. 

She tilted her head, a slight frown growing on her face. “I’m supposed to go and see Roscoe.”

“He will not mind waiting. I am told he is a very patient dog.” Toto said. 

She wasn’t sure what to say to that — Roscoe was not, in any sense of the word, a patient dog. She also didn’t really want to argue with Toto Wolff. 

So she just gave a small nod and followed him when he gestured to a nearby side room. It was empty. A single chair. A single table. It felt a bit like an interrogation room. 

Toto sat. Amelia did not. She hovered just near the wall and folded her arms tight against her chest.

“I understand,” he began, “that you have declined my offer. The junior engineering placement.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

There was a pause. His brow furrowed, just slightly. “You did not think it was a good opportunity?”

“I thought it was an excellent opportunity,” she said honestly. “But I already have a place at McLaren. The team like having my input.”

“That they do,” he said. He didn’t sound offended. He sounded like he was calibrating. “And Lando?”

She blinked. “What about him?”

“He seems to like having you around especially. I have noticed that you spent your time primarily on his side of the garage.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, so she didn’t respond. She could feel her fingers starting to curl in against her arms. She tightened her grip to stop it.

Toto exhaled through his nose. “I will not press. I simply wanted to say, the door is still open. Mercedes does not forget talent.”

“I know,” she said. “My dad doesn’t either.”

There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Possibly a smile. Possibly a tic.

“I see. Then I will stop trying to, how do you say in English… poach you.”

“That would be good,” she said. “My dad would get mad if he found out.” 

Toto raised an eyebrow. “You did not tell him?” 

She shook her head. “No. I need to go now. Lewis and Roscoe are waiting.”

“Of course,” Toto said, standing. He offered a handshake, which she pointedly ignored.

She left the room and continued on down the hallway until she found Roscoe, sprawled across the carpet like a throw rug.

She dropped to her knees and scratched behind his ears.

“Hello. I have missed you very much,” she whispered. Roscoe huffed, then rolled over.

Lewis rounded the corner a second later with two smoothies in hand. One was green, and the other was pink. She hoped that the pink one was for her. He glanced over her shoulder, where Toto was walking away, his phone pressed to his ear. “Oh dear. Did you get ambushed?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I escaped.”

— 

Two races later, she found herself in Canada.

She was en route to the Red Bull motorhome — they always had the best coffee vendor, and no one ever seemed to mind when she slipped in — when someone stepped into her path.

“Miss Brown? Amelia?”

She blinked. The man was tall, holding a Viaplay mic, all teeth and polished camera charm. 

“We’re doing some quick paddock interviews — would you mind answering a couple of questions?”

Amelia hesitated. She wasn’t in team kit. Just a plain black hoodie and her headphones around her neck, though the headphones did have the McLaren logo engraved onto them. She glanced over his shoulder. The cameraman was already adjusting focus.

“I’m not a driver,” she said, pushing the words out through a chest that suddenly felt tight.

He laughed, like she’d made a joke. “No, of course — we know. You’re Lando Norris’, uh, data engineer, right? And Zak Brown’s daughter?”

Her fingers tightened in her sleeves. “I’m only officially one of those things,” she replied. “I am not Lando’s data engineer.” 

“Still. Very involved in McLaren. We’d love a few thoughts on the upcoming qualifying session. From your perspective.” He was still smiling. 

Amelia’s teeth squeaked with the force that she was grinding them together. Her heart was ticking fast, too fast. She didn’t like being filmed. She didn’t like… whatever this was. 

She especially didn’t like when people used polite voices to try and back her into a corner.

“I didn’t say I’d do the interview.” She said, eventually. 

“Just one or two—”

“She said no.”

The voice came from behind her. Flat. No hesitation or inflect. 

Amelia turned her head. Max Verstappen was standing next to her, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at her — his eyes were locked on the reporter.

“We’re just asking—”

“She doesn’t work for a team. She doesn’t have to answer your questions.”

“Ah, Max, come on, we’re live in—”

Max took one step forward. The cameraman slowly lowered the lens.

“I do not like to repeat myself.” He said. He didn’t sound angry, but there was nothing kind about the way he said it. 

The reporter faltered. “Right,” he muttered, stepping back. “We’ll… catch someone else.” They disappeared down the paddock, the cameraman not even bothering to stop the recording properly.

Amelia stared at Max.

He didn’t look at her right away. Just let out a breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. “They should not be bothering you. That was very shit of them.”

“I’m not very interesting,” she told him, her voice barely a mutter as she tried to collect herself. “There’s no point putting me on TV.”

“You’re on TV more than you think,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “Especially when Lando’s around. People are very interested in you both.”

She frowned. “What?”

Max looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

It sounded like it might matter, but if he said that it didn’t, then she wasn’t going to bother asking more about it.

Instead, she tilted her head upward in his direction. He was much taller than he looked when he was in his car. “You’re Max Verstappen.”

He squinted a little under the sun. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why did you help me?” She asked. 

He shrugged, like it was obvious. “Because I don’t like people getting cornered. And Dutch media are, ah—assholes, sometimes.” Then, his mouth curved slightly, something close to teasing. “And because Lando would kill me if I let someone mess with you.”

She just stared at him.

Her stomach did something strange and fluttery that she didn’t like at all.

Max must’ve caught the look on her face because he looked away immediately, regret passing across his features like a cloud. “Anyway,” he added, tone turning brisk, “don’t let them bother you. You’re not public property.”

“I know that,” she said, a little too fast. “I just… forget sometimes. That I’m allowed to say no.”

He nodded once. “You are.”

Then he gave her a brief, crooked grin. “I’ll see you around, Amelia.”

And with that, he disappeared into the Red Bull motorhome, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.

Amelia stood there for a few seconds, her skin still prickling from the confrontation, her thoughts spinning in all directions. The iced coffee no longer felt essential. She turned sharply on her heel and made her way back toward McLaren.

The motorhome wasn’t quiet, or even particularly peaceful; but it was familiar.

It was safe.

—

Lando’s garage was louder than usual.

Or maybe Amelia just wasn’t settled yet; her ears hadn’t quite adjusted, and everything felt like it was pressing in from too many angles. The buzz of the generators, the thud of tyres being stacked, the distant screech of an engine on an out-lap. None of it was new, but it all felt sharper today. She tugged her sleeves over her wrists and walked the perimeter of the garage, not because she needed to check anything, but just because she needed to walk.

Lando was leaning over the front wing of his car, talking to his race engineer. His voice had the kind of ease that came only after a good FP3. He glanced up when she approached.

“You okay?” he asked, brow ticking up.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe her. She could see it in the way he paused, fully paused, mid-sentence with Will, and turned his body slightly toward her.

“You sure?”

She considered lying. Or deflecting. She was usually very good at both.

Instead, she told him, “I ran into Max.”

Lando blinked. “Verstappen?”

“Yes.”

He looked vaguely alarmed. “Did he—? I mean, are you—what happened?”

Amelia folded her arms across her chest and looked past him, toward the pit lane. “Viaplay tried to interview me. I wasn’t wearing anything official. I said no, but they kept asking questions. Then Max showed up and made them leave.”

“Oh.” Lando’s face shifted, obvious concern first, then something much tighter. “That’s… are you okay?”

“Max said that Dutch media can sometimes be assholes,” she added matter-of-factly. “His words.”

“He’d know that better than any of us.” Lando said. 

She looked at his hands, noticing that his veins were very blue. “He also said you would kill him if he let them mess with me.”

Lando coughed, and Will made a choked sound somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Did he?” Lando asked, ears already pink.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Will looked like he was trying not to laugh, which was odd, because she hadn’t heard anyone make a joke. Lando gave a little shrug. Will nudged him with an elbow, and Lando muttered, “Fuck off, mate,” under his breath.

She sighed, looking off toward the data screens. “I didn’t even get my iced coffee.” She mentioned. 

Lando leaned a little closer to her. “You want one now? We can go get it together.”

She shook her head. “No. Just… I want to stay here. Until quali starts.”

His smile got softer. “Yeah. Okay. You can do that.”

So she stood there, adjacent to him, not speaking; just listening to the familiar rhythms of the garage. Tyres being moved. Headsets crackling. Mechanics calling out numbers and adjustments.

She watched Lando pick up his gloves and flex his fingers into them, testing the fit. Quiet. Focused.

And then she turned, and for a split second, panicked. Her water bottle had been moved. She looked around quickly, breath hitching.

But Lando cleared his throat and caught her attention. He walked over to the back of the garage and pulled it from underneath the counter. “Put it in the mini fridge,” he told her. “Didn’t want it getting warm.”

She took it from him, stared at it for a long time, and then smiled. 

— 

iMessage — 5:08pm

Mom Hello, darling! Just checking in. Hope everything went well today x

Amelia Hello, mom. I have a question. How do you know if you have a crush on somebody?

Mom I think this conversation would be much easier on FaceTime. Are you back at the hotel yet?

Amelia No. Lando asked me if I’d like to go get burgers after qualifying and I said yes. Dad was busy so I didn’t tell him. I texted him though.

Mom Is Lando driving you to get burgers?

Amelia Yes. He is a very safe driver in a normal car. He drives exactly at the speed limit. I was a bit worried that he would speed, but he doesn’t :)

Mom That’s very nice, honey x

—

iMessage — 5:12pm

Tracy Brown (Wife) Zak Brown. You have some explaining to do.

Zak Brown (Husband) What’s going on, honey?

Tracy Brown (Wife) You tell me! Your driver has taken our daughter out on a date and you’re none the wiser!

Zak Brown (Husband) What? Which driver?

Tracy Brown (Wife) He is driving her, Zak. To go and get burgers. She texted you.

Zak Brown (Husband) SHE TEXTED ME “ALL GOOD” I THOUGHT THAT MEANT SHE WAS SAFE IN HER HOTEL ROOM UNDER TEN BLANKETS WATCHING A BARBIE MOVIE 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Nope. She’s in a car. With LANDO NORRIS. They’re going for a burger date.

Zak Brown (Husband) I’m calling his father. That little shit head. 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Don’t be dramatic. They’re just getting food. I think she likes him. It’s cute.

Zak Brown (Husband) Cute? Are you serious? The media are going to be all over this. 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Have you seriously not noticed? They’ve been the talk of the paddock for weeks! They’re attached at the hip. I don’t know how we missed this 

Zak Brown (Husband) I think I’m having a heart attack And also a stroke. 

— 

Amelia had already deconstructed her burger; bun on one side, lettuce on the other, everything organised into neat piles. She wasn’t sure if that was weird or not, but Lando hadn’t commented, so she assumed it was fine.

She cleared her throat, tapping her straw against the side of her milkshake. “I’m sorry if I’m in your garage too much.”

Lando blinked at her mid-bite. “What?”

“I just… I know it might be annoying. I don’t want to get in the way. But since I’m not really allowed in Carlos’ anymore—”

“Wait. Hold on.” He put his burger down, brows pulling together. “What do you mean you’re not allowed in Carlos’ garage anymore?”

She picked up a fry, broke it in half, and frowned down at her tray. “Carlos’ dad told me, in China, that I wasn’t welcome in there. So I’ve just been staying in yours.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Fuck that.” Lando said. He was digging his phone out of his pocket. 

Amelia blinked at him, taken aback. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Carlos.” He stared down at his phone, typing furiously. “That’s absolute bullshit. You’re not just allowed in my garage, Amelia, you’re wanted there. You practically run the place. I mean, I was wondering why you didn’t spend any time in Carlos’ anymore, and he’s been thinking this whole time that he did something wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t run anything—”

“You do.” He cut her off, still a little frantic. She stared at him. He took a deep breath. “I’m serious, Amelia. Everyone listens to you. Even Will. Which is terrifying.”

She bit her lip, worrying as she glanced at his phone. “It’s okay, though. I like your garage better, anyway.”

Lando smiled at her. “Good. But still. He can’t just get away with that. Carlos appreciated your input — he told me so. And you belong wherever you want to be, yeah?”

Her face felt warm. She reached for another fry, more for something to do with her hands than out of hunger.

“Also,” he added, a little more casually than before — but she didn’t miss the way his jaw was set, or how his voice had tightened just slightly. “Next time someone tells you that you’re not welcome somewhere you want to be… just tell me, alright? I’ll handle it.”

She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “Handle it how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, grabbing another fry. “However I have to.”

— 

iMessage — 7:48pm

Lando Norris oye

Carlos Sainz qué pasa

Lando Norris did your dad seriously tell Amelia she wasn’t welcome in your garage?

Carlos Sainz ¿qué? when??

Lando Norris few races ago. bahrain she just told me she thinks you don’t want her around

Carlos Sainz no jodas I never said that I just thought she was busy I will talk to him. 

Lando Norris she didn’t wanna say anything

Carlos Sainz

I am glad that she did. 

tell her I never said that and that she is welcome any time

Lando Norris yh. already told her but yeah, sort your dad out mate 

Carlos Sainz voy a hacerlo ahora mismo this is nonsense

Lando Norris cheers mate

Carlos Sainz de nada are you with her right now?

Lando Norris we’re just getting burgers no biggie 

Carlos Sainz Liar.

NEXT CHAPTER

[bandgie]

Let Me In

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, vampire!chris, voyeurism, blood drinking, drugging (oopsies), hypnosis mentions, bit of manipulation from Chris, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, fingering, chris has weird pillow talk ngl

notes: I have redone this concept so many times and at this point, i just need to say 'fuck it' and hit post. also! this is supposed to take place from the late 80s to early 90s. not super important to the plot but just an fyi

5.3k words

CONGRATULATIONS! You’ve been picked to attend the Alpha Phi Omega ball this weekend in honor of the blood moon! Wear your best dress, your highest heels, and most importantly of all, keep this invitation a secret. We hope to see you soon!  Call to RSVP at xxx-xxx-xxxx

The paper is thick between your fingers. It’s not the cheap invitation material you used to send as a child for birthday parties. There’s not even a single crease on it despite being wedged between the front door and the frame of your apartment. It’s handwritten as well. Blank ink stains the paper with the message, a phone number at the end. 

No location, though everyone knows where the Alpha Phi Omega frat house is. Everyone also knows about the infamous party that only a select few are chosen to go to. Sure, it’s supposed to be a secret, but you think that’s just a tactic to get people to talk about it on campus.

You never did, however. You focus on your studies, your classes, and you wake up extra early on Sunday mornings to watch the new episode of Dragon Ball. Getting invited to the ball has never even crossed your mind, and in all honesty, you had completely forgotten about it. 

Yet, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins. You got invited. You. Someone who hardly has any friends and opts to spend time with your dog rather than party on the weekends. 

Maybe you should figure out how the frat brothers even knew about you, but you’re too giddy to even think about that. You slam your door shut and run to your shelves where your landline is. Your eagerness is easily sensed by your dog who jumps on the couch and hops from one paw to the other, barking and yipping.

“Berry!” You look at her curly fur and floppy ears. “Shut up!”

But she doesn’t. Berry continues to bark even as you pick up the phone and click on the keys corresponding to the number on the invitation. She’s a good dog, sometimes, but it’s like she’s trying to prevent you from reservering. Her little body jumps from the couch to run to your ankles, biting your slippers.

You hit the green button and soon hear ringing. “Berry! What is wrong with you?! Stop it-

“Hello?”

“Hi!” You try to push Berry away, ignoring her growling. “Hey sorry, um, I got an invitation to the ball and - ouch! - uh, shit, sorry my dog is crazy right now.”

The voice on the other end laughs. It’s contagious, and you can’t help but chuckle with him. 

“Ah, that’s cute~,” you notice an accent. There are only two brothers in the fraternities with that Australian tongue. One with a voice so deep it makes your bones shake, and the other with a lighter timbre that makes people trust everything he says. “What was your name?” You tell him and he makes a sound like recognition. “Ahhh, I see your name right here, gorgeous.” A surprised laugh barks out from you. For a brief moment, you’ve forgotten about Berry using your slippers as a chew toy. Now you know which Australian brother this is. His swooning words make your anxious walls slowly break and crumble. 

Like he can see your blushing face, Christopher laughs. “You know, I’m not supposed to say anything, but it was me who invited you.”

That adrenaline fills you again, but this time, you feel your stomach swoop. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You’re so quiet, so kind, and so so pretty. I didn’t think you’d want to come.” Another laugh. “Our ball has quite the…reputation.”

You know what reputation he’s talking about. Even if you don’t involve yourself with many people, you can hear the girls on campus rave about their time at the party. How they went home so fucked out and marked up they couldn’t move for days. It was even rumored that they could hardly remember how much fun they had. 

“Oh, yeah, yes. I…I know.” You sound like a damn virgin. Truthfully, you feel like one. Remembering what you’ve heard sends butterflies in your stomach that shoot straight to your cunt. You can feel stickiness beginning to form on your underwear and you can’t help but press your thighs together.

He wants you. Christopher Bahng Chan wants you. It shouldn’t boost your ego or make you feel validated, but god dammit, it does. The oldest from the frat with wide shoulders and plush lips picked you. 

“So, that’s okay with you, gorgeous?” His sultry voice brings you back to the phone call. “You wanna keep me company for the night?”

The way he makes it sound almost shameful, but you’ll be damned if you missed this chance in your dull college life. “Yes. I- I want to go.”

You might as well have signed your life away in blood, or at least, that’s how it feels. 

Christopher laughs like he’s enjoying your shy, yet forward self. “That’s a good girl. I can’t wait to see you.”

The line goes dead and you’re frozen in place trying to collect yourself. He called you a good girl. A good girl. You’re going to see Chris, going to…do stuff with him at the ball. It’s been so long since you’ve had a human interaction, especially a naked one. Slick has made its way to your panties that your clit throbs against the material to try and get any ounce of friction. Who cares if you come off as desperate? Who cares if people think you’re whoring yourself out for one night. If everything goes well, you can end up not only with actual friends but maybe even a lover.

-

Standing at the front door of the party feels surreal. You’ve never been inside of a frat house or stood so close to one. Alpha Phi Omega felt like it was appropriate to have the invitees be picked up by a limousine, adding to the effect of an elegant ball. Though, you know that’s the last thing it is.

The chauffeur is already driving off, leaving you and the other girls alone. 

“Oh my God,” one of them can’t stop cheesing. You think her lips must hurt from how much she’s been smiling. “I can’t believe we got invited here. With them. I’m so surprised they even knew who I was!”

You’re in the same boat, but you choose to keep that to yourself. More women began chirping about how they were so surprised to get an invitation and just to be known. The brothers typically go for more popular ones. Girls who have the newest phones and prettiest lip gloss. You can’t help but snort to yourself as you think they must be doing charity work. 

Not that it bothers you - maybe a little - but you should have some college experience even at the expense of wearing the finest dress you managed to pull from your closet. The material tightens at the back, making your breasts spill over the cups. The cinch at the waist accentuates your figure, widening your hips as the dress flows down. There’s a slit that runs from your ankle to your thigh. Elegant, but not prude. Sexy, but not scandalous. The deep red color matches perfectly with you. Its ruby darkness makes you feel like you’re in a different era. 

It only made sense to wear red - it is the blood moon ball. You just hope Christopher doesn’t find it cheesy. 

The eight of you only chit-chat for what feels like seconds before the door opens, a soft yellow light emulating from the opening. You soon see the silhouette of a man, his hair that’s normally curly is straightened. Chris greets everyone with his signature dimple and you can practically hear the girls swooning along with you. 

He’s saying something - how you all look so beautiful tonight and how lucky the brothers are to have such a gorgeous date. But you’re so distracted by him. You’ve seen Chris on campus, seen the cheerleaders that follow him like a lost puppy, but you’ve never been this close. You’ve never gotten the opportunity to see his thick lips and that broad nose sitting on his face perfectly. And his dimples, the ones he’s smiling at you with, are even cuter this close. 

Chris looks flawless under the moonlight. The shine bounces off his pale skin like a doll, almost like something not human. He’s still speaking, still being the perfect host, and you’re drooling over him.

“...and remember the most important rule, everyone.” His accent hangs heavy on each syllable. “What happens here tonight, stays here tonight.”

Then he’s letting the girls in. Everyone’s squealing with excitement and you’re…frozen. No matter how much you will your legs to move, you can’t help but stand still outside, staring at Chris like he’s the only thing you know. 

He cocks his head to the side, an amused smile finding those pretty lips. “Do you need to be invited in?”

Distantly, you shake your head. You step inside, hearing your heels click on the marble floor before Chris puts his hand on your waist and pulls you further in. 

His grip is firm, but not tight. Fingers dig into your waist like he’s feeling you up but in the most gentlemanly way.

“That dress…” he looks at you up and down, swiping his tongue over his mouth like he’s seen something delicious. “That color suits you well.” 

You look at him, this time, focusing on his outfit. Chris wears all-black slacks and a white shirt undone at the top. On the pocket of his dress shirt is a red flower, the color nearly matching your dress. Without thinking, you reach out to touch it, taking the soft petals between your fingers.

“Thank you. I don’t know if it’s… too much.”

“Too much?” Chris sounds baffled. He grabs your hand and presses it against his mouth, planting a gentle kiss to the back of it like he’s done this with you a thousand times.  “This is a ball and you’re my date. I need you pretty by my side. And don’t worry about anything other than having a good time, yeah?” When he pulls back his teeth to smile, you can’t help but notice how sharp his canines are. “I’ll make sure you do.”

With his hand around your waist and on your hip, you two walk into the main room to be with everyone. It seems like all the girls have already found their dates, sitting next to them on the couches or standing. You recognize most of the brothers of the frat, but it’s hard to think such attractive men can be in the same room. 

One of them, who you think is Jisung, walks around with a tray of shots. Red liquid sloshes in the plastic cups that are distributed to all the ladies. Once he’s before you, you hesitate to take it. 

Chris grabs it for you. “A little pre-game. Helps with getting things started.” He’s holding it up for you, but there’s a prickling sensation crawling on your skin that you can’t shake off. You don’t take it from his hands, not before you ask, “What’s in it?”

“Wine.” His answer is immediate. “With a little kick from yours truly.”

The red wine looks at you intimidatingly. As if daring you to sip from it. You take the shot from Chris and look at it again. Should you really trust a drink from a stranger? Even if Chris is well-known among the ladies, and even if everyone always comes home safe after the ball, you can’t drown out your gut feeling. 

But when you look amongst the other women, they’ve already drunk it. Their lips are stained with red, their tongues swiping over the flavor before clinging onto their dates.

You sigh and look at Chris. “Bottoms up.”

When you tilt your head back to gulp, you swear Chris smiles so wide it almost looks malicious. His dark eyes watch your throat bob, watch as you scrunch your nose at the unique taste.

He pulls you closer, kissing you on the cheek and laughing like he’s won a game you didn’t know you were playing. “Now let’s fucking party!”

Whatever ‘kick’ Chris put in the drink works like a charm. You’re not thinking about how out of place you feel when you’re dancing with him. You’re not thinking about how nervous you’re supposed to be. With his hands on your hips, his crotch on your arse, all you can focus on is him him him. 

Chris pulls you by the wrist to the other part of the room, red solo cups laid out in a triangle on each side of the table. Beer pong. You’ve only played at birthday parties, and even then, you would let other people shoot for you. There’s already a couple waiting at the end, watching as Chris drags you along.

“You can go another round, right Hyunjin?” Chris teases.

“Depends.” Hyunjin has the same smirk. “What’s in it for me?”

You don’t know how they’re carrying a conversation right now. Not when Hyunjin’s date is kissing on his neck. She’s leaving lipstick stains on his throat, hands rubbing over his pelvis before swooping down and gripping him through the pants. Maybe this type of thing is normal for them, but for you, it feels as though you’ve accidentally browsed the adult section of the book shop.

“You get a taste of my date,” Chris says. “And if I win, you have to watch.”

They’re talking about you as if you’re not there. Like they couldn’t care less about your opinion. You should feel some way about it, any type of way, but all you feel is your tummy turning warm and the sudden need to mimic what Hyunjin’s date is doing. 

The slender man grins. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Then you’re playing. The white ball feels unsteady in your grip, and when you shoot, your aim is completely off. The other girl isn’t much better, but she manages to score a few cups whereas you’ve made none. 

“Come on, pretty.” Chris’s sultry voice makes you shiver. “At least try.”

You grab the ball again, this time, closing one eye. Chris wants to win and you want to give Chris everything he asks for. But still, your vision is hazy and your feet are unsteady. How can you get so drunk off of one shot?

When you miss again, you pout. You turn to Chris, meaning to apologize, but your eyes lock with the couple on the couch. Jisung’s digging his mouth into his companion's neck, her head thrown back with a blissful look on her face. What looks like blood drips down the side of her throat. Jisung pulls away, and then you see it, sharp teeth coated with red.

Hyunjin shoots, you hear the ball hit the plastic cup and splash in the water. He and his date celebrate, but you’re too busy staring at the way Jisung licks the blood from her neck and sucks on the wound. 

“What…” you shake your head. “What is he…doing?”

Chris doesn’t ask to specify what you’re talking about. His hand encircles around your waist again, and his other hand swipes the hair from your neck. You let him, unconsciously tilting your head to feel him lean down. The softness of his lips trail over the shell of your ear before descending. Each peck feel makes you feel on fire, the coolness of his body soothing your blazing one.

Was he always this cold?

“He’s feeding,” Chris says casually. So matter-of-factly that you nod. Of course, Jisung is feasting on his date’s neck. Why wouldn’t he? Judging by her closed eyes and parted lips, maybe it’s not that bad. 

Although you like Chris’s mouth on you, his attention on you, your common sense is screaming at you to come back to reality. There’s a haze over you, a spell almost, that keeps you pliant in Chris’s hold. You don’t want to fight against this feeling. It’s all too easy to succumb to this fantasy of a regular frat ball with strange fetishes. You can tell yourself that you’re drunk, that it’s not blood dripping from her neck, but simply spilled wine. 

You blink once. Twice. A third time before you realize no, you’re not drunk at all. Not after one shot at least.

“My drink…” It's so hard to form words. “What did you do to my drink?” Chris is still kissing your neck, licking just above your erratic pulse. “Nothing you’re thinking.” He’s speaking quietly, just below your ear. “I told you - a kick from yours truly. Just a little something to get the party going. To loosen your nerves.”

You swallow thickly. “A drug?”

“My blood.” He corrects. “All it does is…make you more cooperative.” Another kiss, another soft bite. Chris never bites hard enough to draw any blood, but enough to feel the abnormal sharpness of his teeth. 

His blood? Why would his blood work like this? As much as you try to fit the puzzle together, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing a crucial piece. Chris pulls you closer until your side is pressed against him. He feels firm against you. Despite the growing bulge on your hip, he doesn’t rock at all. Chris keeps licking your neck as if prepping the skin.

Nothing makes sense, yet, you still try with your limited speech. “Mind control?”

That makes him laugh. “You won’t let it go, huh? Okay. It’s more like…hypnosis. You won’t do anything you won’t really want to do, but it makes you more open to suggestions. I’m sure you felt nervous coming here. A quiet little thing, hardly talks to anyone, yet, invited to the party everyone wants to go to. If you didn’t have that little kick - my blood - I doubt you’d be having as much fun as you are right now.”

That is…true. You wouldn’t have danced on him like you did. You wouldn’t have played beer pong despite knowing how terrible you are if you were, well, you. His words start to make their way into your head. Whether it’s the blood, the openness to suggestions, or just confusion, it feels easier to believe him. 

“Look at everyone here,” Chris grabs a hold of your chin and guides your head to scan the room. Everyone is in their little pairs, hands on their hips, blood seeping from different parts of their body, and they’re not worried in the slightest. You didn’t notice how many girls have replaced their talking with moaning.

“They’re having such a good time. Kissing, biting, drinking,” his voice is like a purr. “Don’t you want that too?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t help that you’re starting to grow slick between your legs watching the scene unfold right before your eyes. Tongues clashing, hands roaming, and mouths gasping. You know what you’re going to say, and yet, you can’t help but try to ask one more question.

“Hurts?”

And like a lion that’s caught its lamb, Chris smiles with all his teeth. He shakes his head, “No, baby, not at all. I’ll make sure you feel nothing but pleasure. Sit on the table for me, yeah?”

The cups fall to the ground, water splashing but no one pays it any mind. You’re too distracted wrapping your legs around Chris’s torso and pulling him in to care about the mess. The kiss isn't soft. It isn't tender. It's hungry. You pay no mind to the coolness of his skin. His lips are consuming, tongue running over yours in a matter of seconds. Chris puts his hands on your hips and pulls you close. The action deepens the kiss. You're humming into his mouth every time you lock lips. Moaning at every caress of his tongue. 

His lips work past your mouth. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then down to your neck. You tilt to one side to let him nip at your skin, trembling and breathing hard. He slows when he finds your pulse. His tongue lavashes over it before sucking. 

You can feel slick seeping through your folds. Chris's mouth is so good, so practiced, that you could think you could let him mark your throat for as long as he wants. You tangle your fingers through his hair and pull. Not hard at all, but it drags a groan from his swollen lips. 

With your legs spread, Chris easily finds your core. His fingers run up your inner thigh before rubbing soft circles over your clit. The sensation makes you gasp and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue deep in your mouth. There’s people around, perhaps watching, but you can’t find yourself to care. Even as you grind your hips against his palm, it’s only exhilaration that you feel.

Chris finds the side of your underwear and pulls it to the side. Your pussy almost weeps with joy finally being touched, but you jump when his cool fingers come down to rub on it. Thick fingers drag your juices through your slit slowly, making sure to press hard on the bud at the very top. 

You keen, back arching until your chest touches his. Chris makes a sound that seems mixed with a laugh and a groan as you rub your breasts on him. 

He pulls away from your lips to grunt in your ear. “Let me taste you, yeah? It’ll feel so good. I promise.” Chris is already nipping at your skin, eager to drink from you.

If you’re already feeling this good from his fingers, you can’t imagine how his mouth does. You pull back just enough to look into his eyes and nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you bat your eyelashes at him. 

Chris bites you at the same time he sinks two fingers in. The sting of his bite is overshadowed by his knuckles spreading you open. The pace he sets is brutal. Quick pumps of his hand that force your cunt to open for him. You lean to one side to let him bite harder, to feel his teeth blemish your smooth skin. It doesn’t feel like you thought, not like a real bite, but more like two needles quickly replaced harsh sucking. The pressure of his mouth makes you clench on his fingers, pussy gushing so loud you know everyone can hear it. 

Footsteps make their way towards you and Chris, and you soon see the familiar buzzcut of a man you had lost to moments ago. 

Hyunjin grins, blood lining his lips like a gloss. “Thought I was supposed to have a taste.”

You feel Chris tense next to you. His mouth pulls away with your blood on it, a snarl on his lips as he looks at the man almost threateningly. Your legs are shaking, still being fucked open by Chris’s fingers as Hyunjin watches amused at Chris’s pissed-off reaction. His eyes are ten shades darker and so possessive that you feel another gush of arousal spread onto Chris’s fingers.

“Not now.” There’s absolute authority in his voice. Even you quiet your moaning at his command. “Later.”

Chris doesn't wait for Hyunjin to leave when he slips his fingers out of you. A whine leaves your lips, but you see him fiddle with the confines of his slacks. Excitement fills your core, stomach flipping as you watch Chris under the zipper and pry his cock from his slit.

He’s heavy. Pink tip flushed from arousal with precum dripping along a thick vein. You let out a moan, widening your legs until your dress is touching the ground.

“Yes.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but you can’t stop. “Gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah.” Chris fists himself at the base, giving shallow strokes to work up his cock. “You want that?”

The words get caught in your throat watching him play with himself, so you nod instead. Chris inches closer until his tip catches your clit, slapping the fat head on you until your stomach caves.

“Mmm, fuck! Put it in. Pleasepleaseplease.” You’re whining, hips lifting to try and have him slip inside you. It seems like Chris enjoys seeing you desperate. The usual quiet girl begging for his cock pathetically. He runs it up and down your folds, reaching below your belly button before going down to prod your entrance with his tip. The way you squirm, how your heels are digging into his hips to try and push him in, it only makes Chris want to see you cry for it.

So much wetness has accumulated on your clit that every drag of his cock sounds with a loud squelch. You’re clenching on nothing, pussy begging to be filled after so long, but pleasure begins to build in your core anyway. The sudden warmness in your stomach makes your hips twitch uncontrollably, chasing the orgasm that seems to climb higher and higher. 

Chris doesn’t change his pace. He simply uses his hand to press his tip down on you every time he goes over your clit. Your pussy lips surrounding him is enough to be satisfied for now. It’s only when your first orgasm wrecks through you, mouth singing with moans and eyes pinched together, that Chris finally slides in. 

You’re still cumming when he pushes inside. Gummy walls flutter around his size happily, at last having something to ride its orgasm out. A drawled-out moan barely makes it past your mouth before Chris kisses you again, this time, biting hard enough to draw blood from your pretty lips.

His hips are less forgiving than his fingers. You can feel every vein, the curve of his head, and the thickness burying itself deep inside you. It’s hard to catch your breath with Chris’s tongue lavishing on the blood he drew. Moans and whines are eaten up by his greedy, blood-stained mouth. It’s like he can’t get enough - can’t ever be satiated again now knowing your taste. The way your walls open for him, how you scream his name and grip at his hair, Chris thinks he can never get enough. 

Now, you’re barely registering the fact that you’re coming down from your high, though with Chris’s bucking hips, it doesn’t feel like that at all. Hot pleasure doesn’t just build, but it stays, forcing you to never feel like you’ve stopped cumming or even begun. Chan’s cock feels past your cervix, fucking your throat so deep that you can’t even moan anymore. His lips finally stop their assault on your mouth before going to the unbitten part of your neck. You feel the pinch again and the taste of fresh blood makes Chris kick up his speed. 

“Ngh~!” You can feel yourself starting to slip into unconsciousness. You don’t know how much he’s taken, but even without his thirst for blood, Chris would have made you pass out from his cock alone anyway. Your walls clench around him again, gushing with so much slick you think you’ve cum again.

Chris stops for a moment, moaning against your wounds at the feeling of you pulsing around him. He sucks again on his bite, body trembling as though he’s trying to contain himself. 

“So good. Mmm, that’s good pussy. You wanna cum again, huh? I can feel her squeezing me like she loves me.” Then he laughs. “Yeah. Yeah. You love me? Tell me you love me.”

Maybe if you weren’t losing so much blood or being fucking into oblivion, you would think Chris’s idea of pillow talk is strange. Yet, with how you’re clinging onto him with your hands and cunt, you think he’s right. You do love him.

“Love you,” the words come out almost meaningfully. “Love the way you fuck me. Your dick feels so good. More. I wan’ more. I love you. I love you. I love you…” You can’t speak anymore. Not as Chris picks up his pace hearing you. Not when his teeth sink into a new spot and draw red streams from you. It’s a bruising pace, an unforgiving bucking of his hips as he slams into you. You can hear how he slams into you, hitting that sensitive spot just right for another orgasm to build. His slacks manage to rub on your clit with how deep he’s fucking you, and the friction only brings you closer.

“Hnng~! Fuuuck…” Your head lolls back. Chris pulls away from your neck to kiss your jaw, seeming full from his feast. Or, maybe he can feel how much sweeter your pussy has gotten and how your moans have turned into uh-uh-uh’s.

“Yeah. Yeeaahh. Right here, huh? Love it when I fuck you right there? Come on. Cum. You can give me another one, can’t you?” Chris guides your orgasm home with the help of his fingers rubbing at your clit. He pinches it between his fingers and sinks himself as far as you can take it, making you squeal and nearly collapse on the table.

But it’s what you needed to cum, to tip over that edge. Your walls lock Chris into place, violent shudders coursing throughout your orgasm. Warm fluid shoots into your cunt that push past his tip and into the deepest parts of you. Chris cums with a shake, moans going through his swollen lips and bloody teeth. 

Then he’s cooing, barely able to rock his hips to come down from his own high as you’re stuffed with his cum. “Mm, good girl. That was a big one, wasn’t it? You did so well~.”

Chris doesn’t pull out, can’t when your pussy so clearly doesn't want to let him go. You’re trying to catch your breath and keep your eyes open when you hear conversing. Chris must be talking to someone. Something about we had a deal and go play with someone else’s meal. The bickering ends in the other person huffing and stomping away, presumably finding someone to find someone else to sink their teeth into. 

It's then that Chris slides out of you slowly. He slips out with a wet pop! that makes both of you moan. He fixes your dress, tucks himself back inside his slacks, and loops his arms under your shoulders and thighs so he can pick you up. 

Upside down, you can see everyone else in a similar state to you. Some are fully unconscious while others are close to it. 

Then your skin pricks. Could it be that they’re “...dead?”

You hadn’t meant to speak out loud. The cloudiness from Chris’s blood effect and the imprint of his cock inside you leaves everything feeling like a dream. Still, he hears you, and like always, he answers. 

“No baby, of course not. They’re just tired, but I promise everything will go back to normal in the morning.” Chris walks down the hall with you in his arms. You don’t know where you’re going, but when you hear a door kick open and feel the softness of a bed on your back, you know you’re in his room.

“It’ll be like nothing ever happened. You girls will remember you had a fun night, even if you don’t remember why.”

You won't remember? It has to be his blood and cum that makes you so emotional. Or, perhaps, it's the pure desperate need for companionship that makes your eyes water. Even if he is a monster, it's better than forgetting tonight and returning to your solitary life. Sleep has almost claimed you, but you manage to speak with pouting lips, “But, I don’t want to…to…”

A tear slips past your eye. Chris is the one to wipe it with his thumb, cooing even more than before. “Aww. I like you a lot. You know that? I like good girls like you.” He continues to wipe the stray tears that cascade down your beautiful face. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re mine now, even if I have to remind you in the morning.”

tags: @desirehorizon @skzophreniic

[bigclownshoes]

No one come for me but I really really really don't want solo leveling to win anime of the year. Don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous anime with breathtaking fight scenes and cool character moments that occasionally have emotional undertones, but that's about it. Objectively speaking, it loses in almost every other category to one, if not most of the other animes. Character design? Dungeon Meshi, Dandadan, and Frieren have some of the best character designs I've seen. Even the random mobs and monsters are more unique. Story and individual character development arc? Every single one beats Solo leveling. It easily, has one of the weakest side casts I've ever watched lmao. Representation? Frieren and The Apothecary Diaries are literally female led animes, and the rest have insanely diverse casts. Not to mention, if Solo Leveling wins, it just tells higher executives and companies that no, people don't like your unique and inventive stories with diverse main characters and casts, they want more of Weak-Guy-Becomes-Strong-And-Hot. Dandadan, despite it's flaws, has the most unique opening and artstyle I've seen in a long long time. It is such a damn delight watching that show. I could go on, and I know that it's a popularity contest so SL will probably win, but I hope it doesn't. I want the world to know that animes like the others still have a place in a world where AI is slowly overtaking animation and getting more conservative each day and that yes, your risky and new and weird ideas will be loved.

[hard-core-super-star]

(they long to be) close to you [W.Maximoff]

pairing: baker!wanda x college student!reader

summary: after months of pining after the lovely owner of westview's best cafe, you finally get a chance to get to know her better.

warnings: none, just fluff and pining; MILF!wanda because my hand slipped; is cute tension a thing?; gay panic; bad flirting; mentions of stress and tense family dynamics

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: this idea came from a brief conversation with one of my favorite people [@katehopecore] and i wasn't able to get it out of my head so now it's here! and it'll probably end up as a series because i can't help myself. anyway, hope you enjoy <3 [oh AND, the cranberries version of this song is the best one, you can't change my mind]

* * * * * * *

Life in Westview had become a weird sort of predictable by now. Same routine, same people, same comfy booth at the best café in town.

Ironically, you didn't even live in said city. At least, not anymore. There was a time in your life when you'd known nothing except that small town in New Jersey and the neighbors you'd seen your whole life. It was easy, familiar, and so comfortable it became uncomfortable.

And so, to your parent's dismay, when you graduated from high school, you'd decided to leave. You chose to go to college in New York, trading the world you knew for a shining, new, incredibly loud, alternative. As overwhelming as the change had been, it was everything you'd wanted and more.

That being said, you still came back home as much as you could, more out of routine than anything else. At first, you'd left your visits reserved for holiday breaks and three-day weekends. When things got busy at school, the last thing you wanted was to be cooped up with your parents, avoiding their questions and listening to them rant about the neighbors.

Things had taken a turn, however, when you'd accidentally stumbled across Wanda Maximoff and her quaint, yet cozy, café. The lovely owner had moved into town right when you were graduating high school, so even though your parents had attended the house-warming party, you'd never met her.

Maybe that was why you were so drawn to the space. Why your feet carried you there instead of your usual hiding spots. Well, they were technically study spots. At least that was what you told yourself, even though most of the time, you were just looking for an excuse to get some fresh air away from your childhood room.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somehow, Wanda's bakery had become your safe heaven. The one place you could always run to for a warm pastry and a comforting smile.

Okay, maybe you were more fond of the beautiful owner than the fantastic coffee and pastries, but that was beside the point.

What truly mattered, at least right now, was the fact that you'd chosen to leave New York for the weekend, swearing you were going to study and prepare for your midterms next week. Of course, that was easier said than done.

Especially when you'd spent most of the morning drooling into your coffee since Wanda was working the counter today. She had no business looking as good as she did in a flannel and suspenders, her lovely red hair falling into soft waves over her shoulders.

It was a little comical how unaware of the effect she had on other people Wanda seemed to be. It was almost like she was in her own little world. One filled with croissant recipes and the weirdest ways to keep an old espresso machine from breaking down.

She was the most enchanting woman you'd ever met and she didn't even know it. Didn't even notice the way all the teenage boys that came in tripped over themselves for a second of her attention.

As much as you wanted to make fun of them, you were just the same.

Except more mature…at least, you hoped.

You're in the middle of another study session, the most recent drink you'd ordered forgotten on the table among the chaos of notebooks, books and of course, your struggling laptop, when you hear footsteps approaching.

You don't look up from your textbook until you hear the sound of a plate and a glass being placed on the table. A question is on the tip of your tongue when your eyes meet Wanda's. There's a softness in them that speaks volumes.

"You've been here for a while," she says with a small shrug. "I thought you might be hungry."

It's only then that you fully realize what she's placed on the table. A glass of water with a few slices of lemon and a plate with a warm ham and cheese croissant. It's not the most extravagant of meals by any means but, considering the growling of your stomach, it's exactly what you need.

"Thank you," you mumble, your voice coming out slightly hoarse. "This is really nice of you."

"Oh, it's nothing, sweetheart." The warmth that spread across your chest stops you from seeing the blush on her cheeks. "Just a little something to keep your energy up."

You're not sure what compels you but you close your laptop and move your stuff out of the way. "Would you like to sit for a little? You've been working hard all morning too."

A small smile tugs at the corners of the older woman's lips. "I shouldn't but…I'm sure the boys can manage for a few minutes."

You sneak a glance up at the counter, watching as the young boys behind the counter scramble to help the working adults preparing coffee orders. Even though you don't want to pry, a question falls out of your lips once you take in the similarities between the two boys and the woman sitting in front of you. "Are they…your sons?"

Wanda nods before you can think too hard about the embarrassing question you just asked. "Yeah, Billy and Tommy. They come help out on the weekends before going to their father's for a few days."

Thankfully, you were barely reaching for your water when she said that, otherwise…you might have made an even bigger fool of yourself by choking like an idiot. That being said…you still didn't push down the urge to keep asking questions.

"You're married?"

"Was married," she corrects. "Things didn't work out, but we share custody and are still good friends. It makes it easier on the boys, I think."

It's hard to hide the smile that starts spreading across your face. You hate how instantaneous it is, how insensitive it makes you feel, and more importantly…how relieved you feel. You barely know this woman, and yet here you are, wrapped around her finger so tightly that you can't stop yourself from hoping there's a chance.

A chance for what? Only time will tell, you suppose.

"Do they like baking too?" You ask as you dig into the croissant, steering the conversation away from something that might make you gay panic.

Your question makes her laugh, the sound sharp with surprise yet filled with warmth. "Oh no, the second they see flour anywhere, they start throwing it at each other."

"Can't say I blame them. I probably wouldn't be much better."

"That's disappointing," Wanda teases. "I was looking for an apprentice."

You giggle in response and concentrate on not appearing too flustered. You're not sure you succeed, though, considering the way the older woman looks at you. "I would if I could, midterm season doesn't give me much free time."

"An even better reason to give baking a try," she replies. "It's what I do when I'm stressed."

"So you decided to open a bakery? How does that work?"

She shrugs. "Divorce is stressful."

All you can do is shake your head and laugh again, feeling warmth bloom in your chest as she joins you. You're pretty sure you can get used to making her laugh like this.

"I might have to give it a try then," you say once your laughter dies down. "It sounds much better than what I've been doing."

"Which is?"

"Ignoring my problems and drinking too much coffee."

"Oh."

To ignore the soft concern in her features, you go back to eating. Thankfully, she doesn't press you or ask any more questions. She simply sits with you, keeping you company and helping you stay grounded.

It's…nice having her with you, you find. Even though all she's doing is sitting with you, her presence is calming. Comforting.

And maybe you should unpack that, but you'd rather not ruin the peace that's settled over you.

Wanda seems just as comfortable as you, since she doesn't move from her spot until she's sure you've finished eating, and she's coaxed you into finishing the glass of water. Even then, she isn't in much of a rush. At least, until one of the twins (you're still not sure which one is which, since you're too embarrassed to ask) tells her the oven went off and the newest batch of cookies is ready.

The smile on your face falters some at that and the older woman must notice because she turns back to you with a certain sparkle in her eyes. "Would you like to come help? I know you're probably busy but-"

"Yes." You rush the words out before you can second-guess yourself. "I'd love to."

Her surprise turns into glee and before you know it you're putting your things away and following her into the back. Somehow, even though the entire café always smells sweet, the aroma coming from the ovens is magnificent. You're not sure how you're going to help her without eating half of the batch.

She seems to read your mind because she motions for you to sit on a counter while she takes the cookies out of the oven. You're more than happy to watch her work, munching on whatever sweet treat she hands you to keep you from getting bored. You're pretty sure it's impossible to be bored in her presence but you don't mention that.

Some time passes before Wanda speaks again. "Sorry, I'm usually better at multitasking."

You instantly shake your head. "It's okay, I don't mind the quiet. It's nice watching you work."

"You're too sweet," she says, looking up at you with a mock glare.

You stifle a laugh as you notice the faint streak of icing on her face. "Actually, I think you have me beaten."

Her eyebrows furrow, more out of confusion than annoyance, though. "What's so funny?"

Instead of answering, you slide off the counter and reach out to wipe the icing off her face. There's still space between you, but it feels suddenly small…like if you just stepped forward…

The sound of the oven going off again stops you before you can do something truly idiotic.

Your hand drops as Wanda turns. "You should help me decorate this next batch. My hand's a little tired."

You have a feeling she's not at all tired, considering this is her passion, but you see the offer for what it is. A chance to spend more time with her.

"Deal."

It's not until almost an hour later that either of you acknowledge what happened. The soft touch and the even softer looks exchanged.

It's subtle, like the smell of her perfume that starts lingering on your clothes.

"You know, if you want to come back tomorrow, I would appreciate the help."

And you do.

The next morning. And the next Saturday. And the one after that.

You come back each and every weekend until you accidentally carve out a space in her heart reserved just for you.

[brnesblogposts]

yes, no, maybe?

pairing bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst!!! maybe fluff.. you’ll find out if i’m feeling evil today. tony stark is your dad. reader is in her 20s :)

word count: 1.2k

The heart is what keeps us alive, it pumps blood through our veins and supposedly tells us what we want. Sometimes the heart breaks, sometimes that is enough to bring us to our knees pleading with the powers above to make it stop hurting.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Wait a minute.. Y/n do you have a crush on Bucky?”

“Ummmm” She looks sheepishly at her dad as he asks, blush creeping up her neck and face. Why must this topic of come up while she was with all the avengers.. Bucky himself not included as he was out for a ride on his bike.

“Y/n..” Natasha is giving her a weird look somewhere between disbelief and pity.

“I don’t have a crush on Bucky.” She reassures them all with a sheepish look; A collective sigh of relief is released by all of the avengers.

“I’m in love with him” She says just loud enough for everyone to hear while still avoiding making eye contact with anyone. There’s a collective gasp this time, their faces ranging from unreadable to disconcerted.

“That’s not okay or appropriate” Bruce states matter-of-factly and her face falls at his words.

“He’s too old for you, he’s riddled with trauma and has seen one hundred and eight years pass by” Tony counters, she knew her dad of all people would never approve which is why she was gonna bottle her feelings for Bucky up and pine for him for the rest of her life even if it felt like it was slowly killing her.

“I know but-” She tries to argue back but is cut off by Steve.

“Your dad is right. Not only has Bucky been through hell on Earth and back, but he’s way too old for you, the age gap is like eighty years, that’s not right.” He’s sympathetic in his words but they still rip a hole in her chest.

“I know all of that- Technically he’s over one hundred years old but physically he’s no older than his mid thirties and I know that’s still an age difference of course.. I don’t care though, I love him, I really do.” She hopes they’ll begin to understand that her feelings for him are real and aren’t going away any time soon.

“Honey..” Clint puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to see their point of view, to see how she’s so blinded by love that she’s not thinking logically.

“Can we not do this,” she all but pleads and is met with sorrowful looks.

“You need to get over him, it’s never gonna happen.” She feels her shoulders drop at her dad's curt response, like he didn’t care for how hurtful his words were. She barely meets his eyes as her own start to fill with tears.

“Excuse me.” Her voice cracks as she flees the vicinity, leaving the compound and making her way down to the stream by the woods, a place she went to when she needed solace.

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

“What’s going on?” Bucky's voice breaks everyone from their reverie as they stare at the door you just walked out of.

“Bucky” Steve says while looking dazed by his best friend’s sudden unheard entrance. The group stares at Bucky with awkward expressions, not knowing what to say.

“You guys say I have the staring problem?” He retorts with a chuckle that quickly dies down when their expressions don’t change to ones of laughter or even a slight smile, which only furthers his worry.

“Okay someone tell me what the hell is going on, you all look like you’ve seen a ghost or something” He looks each of them in the eye.

“It’s Y/n…” Natasha says, and Bucky’s face turns to one of concern.

“Wh- What? I- Is she okay??” Panic started to rise within him before Steve put a hand on his friends shoulder.

“She’s not in danger or anything, she’s okay.” He reassures the fretful man, “It’s an… Emotional thing…” He says aloofly.

“Emotional? What- What do you mean? Did someone upset her?” His protective instincts rose to the surface at the thought of someone hurting his Doll. Before he could act on his rash emotions Clint spoke up.

“Bucky-” He grabs the super soldiers attention “She- She confessed that she’s in love with you.” Clint was gentle with his tone knowing how fickle this situation was.

Bucky looked at the archer with slightly widened eyes and his lips parted slightly at the shock of his words.

“What?” He asked in disbelief, is this some sort of practical joke? If it is, it’s not funny at all.

“Y/N is in love with you, we tried telling her it’s impractical, that it’s not appropriate but she wouldn’t listen to us” Bruce chimed in.

Bucky remained still, mind whirring as he tried to process this information.

“Y/n? Me? She loves me??” He’s flabbergasted as the Avengers nod in confirmation.

“She’s not taking the news that it’s never gonna happen well” Steve gives his friend a pitiful smile.

Bucky knows it’s not right, he’s old and broken and you’re young and so full of light and positivity, even if his heart guiltily yearns for it, he won’t allow it to happen. He won’t allow himself to dim your light.

“Okay,” Bucky coughs “where did she go? I want to talk to her.” Hearing how upset you were by the other guys rejection on behalf of Bucky has only made him feel guilty, he should be the one to comfort you and talk it out, and he intends to do just that.

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

He hears the water running through the stream and the bristle of the leaves as the wind sways the trees, he understands why you come here when your mind is archaic, there's a serenity in the peace.

You're sat at the rivers edge, knees up to your chest, watching the moving water completely unaware of Bucky's looming presence until he sits down beside you.

Without even looking at him you just know it's Bucky watching you, assessing. "You can understand that the last person I want to talk about this with is you, I'm embarrassed enough as it is." You curl up into yourself more.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about" Bucky reassures softly.

"Everyone, including you now knows about my pathetic little feelings, if I had just kept it to myself then everything would be fine and I wouldn't of made our friendship awkward." You ramble, still not looking his way.

"First of all, there's nothing pathetic about your feelings, nobody can control those. Secondly, you haven't ruined anything as far as I'm concerned. Can we at least talk about it?" Bucky bumps your arm with his.

At your silence he tries again.

"Can I talk?" He sees you consider for a moment.

"I can't stop you" You mutter and Bucky feels like he's getting somewhere.

"I know you feel embarrassed, there's no need to be though. Crushes happen, we can't control who our heart falls for. I'm a broken man Y/n, my past eats me alive most nights. I'm old and withered, you though, you're young and full of so much life and love to give. I'm no man for you. If circumstances were different I'd be the luckiest man in the world to have you as my girl. But you understand why we can't be together in this universe don't you?"

You nod. Finally looking up at Bucky to see him already looking back at yo and your tear stained cheeks. His features soften and he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away and proceeds to move up closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you rest your head on his chest, tears still falling.

"I'm sorry that I fell in love with you."

"I'm sorry I can't love you like you want me to."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

a/n i started this over a year ago and went into a writing slump before i got to finish it but now i kind of hate it but i finished it and am posting it anyway.

taglist- @readingwaypastmybedtime @ktgsoul @armystay89 @mostlymarvelgirl

let me know if you wanna be on my bucky tag list

[athenaluciscaelum]

Hello! Can I have requested for Dante (DMC5) with a fem reader who's into breeding kink?

Reader noticed her husband is acting weird aka baby fever and she's willing to give him what he wants.

Note: I think I always detail, but I hope you like it.

Oh Baby

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Pairing: DMC5 Dante x Fem! Reader

Rated: Mature

Words: 2513 words

Warning: Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink(duh!)

Disclaimer:

Feel free to leave comments, but remember to be nice and civil.

LETS ROCK!!

You scared Dante. Yes, you scared him. You dare him to have dreams, dreams that he never let escape his mind, dreams he never dared to accept, dreams he never dared to speak of even to himself. Let alone another soul. Of course, Dante's soul had a dichotomy, or so he thought or perceived. The dichotomy of his demon half and human half, which took him so many years of his life to harmonise together, from hatred and denial to acceptance and synchronising.

You were perfect in his eyes, standing near the window basking in the morning sun. He loves how calm and peaceful you were. Even though the life you had with him was ever far from peaceful. It was a constant struggle and violence. Violence he enjoyed, violence which was necessary.

This violence was so many times an extension of his demon half, but its dispensation was guided by his human heart. Dante's demon half was satisfied; he was at the top of his strength. What more could he ask for?

But then you waltz into his life, and everything changes. He was so adamant. 'No! She won't be part of my life! She is too good for me. And everything I love only dies.' To be honest, this was the way Dante learnt to love. Rather bring people he loves in his life. He stayed away to see them grow safe and sound from afar. Like he did with Patty, Nero, and you.

Or he thought. But you were strong, resilient and stubborn. The way humans were strong. And it made his heart flutter. He tried; he really tried to drive you away. Intentionally being rude to you, flirting with you in a crass manner, or ignoring you. But you see through his acts. Always giving him 'I understand'.

You understand. Hell, when do you have to understand anything? You were not supposed to understand anything. There is one thing he never wanted or never got from another human being – acceptance in all its entirety.

Dante's demonic side didn't help his case here. It was ready to pounce on you. It was ready to smother 'mate' with love and build a nest for her. Nest? Whatever for? What Nest!? He could barely stay sane in your presence, and you were so willing to be his.

Dante sighed as you were cuddling him at night after your first night together, your face nuzzling his chest. He thought to himself, 'Maybe, just maybe, I can give it a slack.' The 'slack' kept on going – just one night, just a casual thing, just one date, just staying once over at her house, just asking her to move in because... cut it. Within a year, Dante was obsessed; his mate stayed close to him and 'the nest'. He made changes in the room, bringing in a comfy bed and dresser, painting the room to your liking, and helping you decorate it whatever way you like.

It was not long before you two were dancing on your wedding night. You thought yourself to be the luckiest, and you were. Dante was a gem. Though he was unable to see it.

You always wanted to have a husband and children. You were strong and independent, but you craved the domesticity with the right person. When you decided it to be Dante. You told yourself kids might not be an option and that it was something you were ready for. You loved Dante, kids or no kids. You were not letting someone you love go for something you might or might not have in the future.

Dante was here. He is real, and he loves you deeply. Even if you craved kids, you gave it a long thought before pursuing Dante. He never brought up this topic, but given his line of fear to even have you. It was implied. So you were ready for it. You can always dote on other kids. The world has so many of them.

Dante kept looking at you as his mind swirled. When he was young he never thought about fatherhood, but you were standing at the front door helping a little kid who tripped outside the office. To be honest, the kid was a little dumb. But it came so naturally to you. Kids always find you trustworthy. Even when you two are out, some lost or scared kid will approach you for help. Even animals, it's like you had a sort of aura which made them feel safe. Your soul was….soothing.

Dante agreed. You even made him feel safe. He will cuddle you every night; it helps him sleep better. Every time he saw you interact with kids, a voice inside him filled his mind with thoughts. The thoughts of you in a dress, your belly swollen with his kid, your breast heavy to nourish them, and you looked so beautiful smiling with excitement.

Dante shook his head, 'No! No!' He has already endangered you by bringing you into his life, but to make you birth a child with Sparda blood. The possibility that it could lead to your potential death. The image of his mother lying on the floor bleeding to death danced in front of his eyes as everything else burnt to the ground. It made him tremble with fear. He was unwilling to lose you. But his demon side would not stop bothering him.

You two were in bed in the afternoon. It was common for Dante to be away from you for many nights and weekends were when you two got the opportunity to cuddle throughout the day. You were asleep curled up on your side of the bed. The room was dark; Dante's hand came to rest on your stomach. It irritated you a bit. You had your own internal conflict. There was one thing: you let your dream go. But it was another when his hand placed there reminded you that you will always feel this 'empty'.

You both were fighting your own internal battle, but communication sometimes was so difficult when it involved potentially losing a loved one.

You sighed and removed Dante's large hand away from your stomach, sleepy. Your voice a little irritated, "Dante, I told you not to touch my stomach." Dante was little taken back and sad but nodded and spoke softly, "Right...I'm sorry…"

Dante stood up, putting back on his pants, Henley and coat. You sat up on the bed, covering yourself with a sheet as he was putting on his belt. You spoke regretfully, "Hey...where are you going? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude." Dante shook his head, "No...no...it's just... I just wanted a little space and to go out alone..." You felt unsure but nodded, "Okay, take care; I will miss you." Dante gave you a lil nod as he headed out. He mentally berates himself. Now you were alone in bed, thinking you did something wrong when it was him.

It was too early to go to a bar, but he needed space and ordered his Jack Daniel with coke. He leaned on the counter, running his hand through his white hair. He knew what he wanted...a child. But he wasn't sure. He never wanted to be a father, or more like never wanted to repeat his own childhood. He had no qualm with his father now. Sparda was a good father.

Dante thought the only time he entertained the idea was before meeting Nero. He was in a better place mentally and sometimes thought. If he should have a wife and child of his own. But then he met Nero and thought it was enough. The blood of Sparda continues. You were never supposed to be in his life. But you are, and it changes everything. He thought about what the fate of Nero's mother was. Did she abandon Nero? Did she die? Killed by Demons? Or the Order of the Swords? Demons never specifically came for Nero or called him 'Sparda Kin'; only very few upper demons did.

He asked himself again and again. Was it safe? Could it be different this time? Even Sparda was the strongest, the way he was now. And if he can still decide to have a child. Will you agree to have a child with someone like him?

Dante was lost in his thoughts; you could see something was bothering him for more than a week. When you asked, he shrugged, "Nothing, babe, it's just bills, no job, you can see." You nodded, "I think it's okay; I can cover them for now. Isn't there anything else? You can tell me, okay?" Dante smiled, making his dilemma, "Nope. All good; our nest should be in good shape." He smacked himself internally, but you caught on before he could say anything. You spoke in confusion, "Nest?" Dante tried to act casual, "Yeah...nest as in birds. I was reading about birds in magazines. Nest is home, home is nest, quite interchangeable." You raised an eyebrow and asked unsure, "Birds?" Dante nodded, fumbling with his hands, "Yes, birds, you like them, right?"

Now you know Dante was hiding something from you, and it was eating you on the inside. He started to take up long night missions and ignore you. He kept saying it was to get bills paid and treat you to something nice. But he was the nice you wanted.

So tonight you dressed up, putting on makeup and a soft doll lingerie dress. You were waiting for him in bed when he walked in. You were so tantalising and smiled at him; you purred, "Mind joining me?"

Dante was drooling and sighed; he knew this was coming from a place of guilt. A guilt you should never have; it was his issue, not yours. But here you were, trying to make amends for something which was not your burden. He spoke feeling resigned, "Y/N, can we talk?" You expected many reactions but not this. Dante's eyes were on your chest; he was barely containing himself. He was on his heat cycle, and his demonic side was tethering to breed you.

You took his face in your hands and spoke understandingly, "Heat?" He nodded. You sighed and ran your knuckles on his scruffy cheek, "Why hide it from me!?" He just sighed and leaned into your touch, purring. You melted and spoke softly, "Dante...talk...please…" That, please, made his cock jolt. He nuzzled your neck, and his large hands held on to your waist tightly. He purred in your ears, "Need you. Need you to breed you. But I'm so scared, so scared of losing you. Please...help me." Your eyes were wide; you froze. This is what you ever wanted.

You pulled Dante's face away, holding it to face him. You spoke breaking, you were about to cry, and you could not believe it was real. But also could not ascertain if it was spoken with full certainty and soundness? You spoke as your voice breaks, "Da-Dante! Look at me, talk to me... You mean it." He nodded; he looked so vulnerable. "I mean it...babe." Tears streamed down your cheek, "You mean it!? You won't regret it...promise me." Dante wiped away your tears with his thumb. He was so tender and full of love; he spoke with softness. Softness – he wasn't aware he could have that, and that made him feel better about being ready for a child, "I will never regret you or the life you bring into this world."

You held his face, kissing his lips deeply. Your lips fighting for dominance with his, you two were ready. Dante pulled you beneath him. He spoke gruffly and needy, "Be a good girl for me, hmm?" You nodded, all flustered; your soft palm touched his bulge. Dante squeezed his eyes shut and cursed, "Fuck, Y/N, now is not the time to play…" You nodded in understanding. You started to unbuckle and unzip his hands... He pulled back to take them off with his underwear, also discarding his shirt. Your dress was quite short; he pulled down your panties.

He was ripping into seams, controlling himself as he was morphing in and out of his devil trigger. You found it so hot. Your hands on his face, looking at him and smiling...kissing his demonic lips... while his thick fingers stroked your slit, you moaned in the kiss as he pushed in one finger and started to screw you. He was minding his fingernail; demon fingers aren't exactly safe. He pulled away...he was now fully in his Devil Trigger. His cock was thicker and longer; that scared you always, but you trusted him.

You were quiet, and your nails rakes over his shoulder blades and legs pressed to your chest in a mating press as he was thrusting into you, again and again. He hit your sweet spot every time he was biting your neck, collarbone, and chest – an attempt to mark and claim his mate.

Your skin turning red, purple, and blue. He kept going on taking his sweet time, torturing you – making you come again and again. Until you were overstimulated.

He flipped you on your stomach; you were drooling, crying, and begging him to fill you. Your body was spent. He raised your ass up, his demonic hand fondling your tits. He rammed it in until you both were utterly satisfied, filling you to the brim and setting you free. He stayed in inside you. You were pressed against his chest, barely awake. He held your small face, tilted your chin up and kissed you deeply, giving you a few up thrusts to make sure you took all of his seeds.

He gently pulls out of sure, his thumb pushing back in any come that is dripping from your slit. God, he loved you so much.

He looked at you spent and curled on their 'nest'. He would let you rest for now. When you're awake, he will feed you and massage your sore muscles. So you could be ready for another round, one more, and more again. As many as it took for your shared love to result in a life.

It was a lazy morning. You were out with Trish shopping. Dante was waiting for you. You were not off the hook. You both still have a mission to complete, and he takes this mission very seriously. You came back and smiled. You gave him a box. He raised an eyebrow. You insisted he open it now. He opened it to find the tiniest pair of boots, one like his. You were smiling from ear to ear, flustered. His heart pounded in his chest so loud, he was trembling with joy. He scooped you in his arms, twirling you around. You squeaked, "Dante, I'm feeling dizzy; I do not want to throw up again." Dante apologised and put you down. He knelt in front of you. His head on your belly. You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly.

Everything will be fine. Dante promised he would make sure of it.

[peterparkouryo]

impossible to ignore you | ‹𝟹

‹𝟹

prompt; The boy from the train asks you out on a date.

warnings: disgusting amount of fluff and slight angst in beginning bcuz reader is delusional.

word count: 1k

a/n: twitter is my new addiction pls follow @/arvinsfav i'm tryna reach 1,000 followers ilyyy. also i am so so sorry this is so bad, i barely read fanfics now so my inspo of words and storytelling is kinda horrible bcuz of the writers block :( forgive me i promise to do better next time.

ˏ��°•*⁀➷ taglist

-

You found that school has always been a drag. No matter how many social events Midtown tried to throw at the student body, nothing could ever make you enjoy an eight hour torture of sitting through classes (lunch excluded). 

However, there was one good thing that made just a little bit of appreciation in you getting an education slightly important. 

Peter Parker.

After properly meeting him on the train a few weeks prior, you found yourself seeking him out, wanting to know whatever you could about him without making it stalkerish, or overall weird.

A couple of your friends mutual to the boy had told you how insanely sweet he was, and even though he has his disappearing moments, he still finds a way to be there when needed. To you, that's a certain admiration you revel in with anyone.

Sure the two of you talked here and there, but given your growing infatuation to the boy, its a more so awkward exchange than genuine chemistry. There were even times you had to ask yourself if you were the problem or if he's just not as people person as you thought he was.

For instance, today in Spanish Class, you were stuck on the Spanish word for 'Phenomenal', so naturally you ask the smartest person in the room for help, and since you were in a sort of acquaintance relationship with Peter, you turned and shot your question to him.

Peter's reaction to your question however was far from how he interacted with you the weeks before, and you felt something stir in your gut, a bad feeling almost. Not only did he half answer, but he lacked eye contact.

You read somewhere that during conversations, eye contact is a super important thing to have and it shows that a person enjoys talking to you, and they're hearing what you're saying by maintaining such an aspect.

Maybe the little overlydramatic side of you could be reaching and he might just be really shy, but it also made no sense, because Peter did seem like he liked your company, at least for a little while.

As your thoughts of what if's invade your mind, you walk down the hall after asking your math teacher if you may use the washroom (he made a dumb math joke before you left), you notice a familiar set of brown curls exit the boys' washroom, and you stop in your tracks just as he did.

You look him over in his blue Midtown sweatshirt, which he probably got from school spirit week, holding a hall pass from the detention classroom. 

"Hi." Peter says.

"Hi." You say back.

The strained silence set an unwanted tension between you both and Peter quietly fiddles with the makeshift pass in his hands before clearing his throat.

"You look nice today." He softly smiled at you and you blink in genuine confusion as the butterflies in your stomach flutter at his compliment.

"Thank you." You respond and awkwardly place your hands behind your back.

A few more seconds of quietness go by.

"I hope you know I'm not ignoring you on purpose, or—I don't want you to think I hate you or something." Peter explains, to your relief.

Being under the impression the boy hated you, or just fizzled out interest overtook your mind more than you'd like to admit.

All you could do is nod in response, thankful but still a little worried.

"It's just...I don't really know how to talk to you." Peter admits and continues, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you or anything." You reassure, smiling in hopes he believes you.

Peter looks around in deep thought and takes a deep breath. You could feel his nervousness practically oozing from him.

"Look, I'm just going to say it because my aunt told me I should be more confident and upfront, no matter the outcome—" He rambles and you furrow your eyebrows with a confused smile. "I really like you, I know its technically been a few weeks, but I don't know..." Peter shrugs.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach listening to his words, hearing the boy you were so infatuated with and even asked around about openly admit to liking you. It was almost impossible to ignore the feeling of happiness rising in you.

"You like me?" You bite the bottom of your lip and grin.

"Well, yeah." Peter shows you a half smile.

"I like you too." You ultimately admit.

Peter's half smile turns into an even bigger one.

"You do? I mean—That's awesome, maybe..I could hopefully, successfully ask you on a date? If you want to go, not forcing you or anything." He watches and waits for your reaction.

You felt like you were in a dream and one simple pinch would wake you up from this fairytale.

"I would like that." You agree and you swear Peter's smile grows inhumanly larger.

"Okay, cool."

"Cool."

A more comfortable beat of silence goes by.

"I should probably get back to...dentition before the Coach think I skipped or something." Peter explains to which you nod in understanding.

"Right." You press your lips together as he starts to walk past you.

The boy stops in his tracks and turns to face you. "Is it okay if I take you to a science related museum for our date? Because I know some cool facts unless you think that's lame, then we could go to Delmar's or something, but if you don't like sandwiches either—" You stop him before he continues with his habit of rambling.

"Both is fine." You chuckle and Peter nods at your submission.

"Okay, both it is."

Peter turns around and unknowingly fails to notice you watch him just about skip his way back to detention and you smile at the adorable gesture.

Almost completely forgetting your bladder needed relief, the five minute conversation finally coming to an end, you make your way to the girl's washroom with a more confident pep in your step.

taglist:

@victoriousskylar @ietss @astrogirl0666 @hahehwjavaja @superlegend216 @b4tm4nn @imawhoreforu @sunsettee @myfangirlinessononeblog

[ghettogirly]

𝑱𝑼𝑱𝑼 𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑺!𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑴𝑷𝒀 𝑿 𝑺𝑼𝑵𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑬!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑵 [2]

━━━━━━━━━━

-> summary: how does your relationship further with juju after that night?

-> authors note: hope you guys enjoy!

part 1 is here.

━━━━━━━━━━

- ever since that night, the dynamic between the two of you shifted.

- a couple of weeks past, although she still kept her distance. Yet, she stole glances at you whenever she could. You were back to your usual chirpy self, grinning at friends, constantly chattering about gossip or the latest updates on these reality TV shows.

- however this time, she saw you everywhere. more than before. she couldn’t escape you. she loathed it, yet, couldn’t pull herself away from wanting you.

- your intoxicating scent of a sweet, warm vanilla that follows you wherever you go; having the ability to attract anyone and everyone you want to. why would you even like her? you was the sun and she was the moon.

- she was the complete opposite: introverted personality, having few words to say and keeping to herself.

- yet, this was the effect you had on her. Juju Watkins - known for her nonchalance and cool on the court yet she’s sweating about a girl she’s only ever interacted with a couple of times?

- you noticed it too. Juju kept popping up everywhere. At cheer practice, in the library, even noticing her at the public cafeteria. It was weird.

- After the encounter, you were so embarrassed. Having a public meltdown was the worst way to go, especially in front of THE juju watkins.

- how would she like someone like you, who’s just ditzy and an airhead? you’re the complete opposite of her black cat personality.

- yet, a moment pulled you guys together.

- it was a friendly between USC and UCLA. They were known for being quite cocky and full of themselves, having big and shifty guards who could unfortunately, back up their shit talking.

- it was the 3rd quarter in the last minute, USC was leading 65-59. Two guards were locking up Juju from the point line, dashing forward Juju cut through one and then pulled back to do a mid range jumper from the second defender.

- a crash was heard from the court.

- there was juju laying in pain while clutching her shoulder, a dirty foul made as the second defender charged into her to block the ball. The whistle was blown and the coaches ran out on the court to escort Juju off the court.

- your eyes trail over towards juju who hangs her head low in the changing rooms. Analysing her face, you notice there was no tears falling down her cheeks - yet.

- You slowly creep in, placing your pom poms down on the bench to make your presence known - able to sneak off from the back row of the squad.

- Her head whips up, narrowing her eyes at you while you begin to walk over. “What are you doing here?”

- “I just wanted to see if you was okay, that was-“

- “I’m fine. It was a big fall, nothing serious.” The taller states, looking deadpanned as she begins to undo her laces.

- “Do you always do this with everyone? Just refuse to let people in?”

- Silence.

- Silence swept through the changing rooms as an answer was not given. Instead, the latter just shook her head and continued to untie her laces.

- “Things have been different since that night you helped me, i want to be there to help you also.”

- At this moment in time, you were sitting next to Juju, who still had her head hung low at this rate.

- “I just can’t let you in..”

- “but you can, you just need to trust me.”

- and in that instance, the tears came flooding down and there she was, crying in your arms,

- an eclipse was formed.

[cheol-e-kat]

hi hi can i ask for stuck in elevator + handcuffed and lost key + hair pulling for mingyu? i think the hair pulling could go several ways 💕💕 i hope you feel better soon

hiiii anon - thx <33 also this is more angsty than i meant it to be...and if you’re me, you imagine their old building has some very well-meaning ghosts tampering with the elevator 

♡ kat

master list & tag list

𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚𝒐𝒖

bingo squares: stuck in elevator + handcuffed and lost key (unintentional bingo squares: their phones are dead, now what?)

pairing:  kim mingyu / f!reader 

summary: y/n and mingyu’s relationship hasn’t been smooth lately, maybe a stuck elevator and handcuffs can help

word count:  1.7k

genre: rocky relationship, tension, a tiny dose of angst, fluff? - Idk what this is for certain besides very forced proximity - two people struggling in a relationship? 

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

warnings: explicit language, drinking mentioned

“This is so dumb,” she whispered and shook her arm, which was connected to his, to emphasize the point. 

“Oh, stop it,” he mumbled, no bite in his voice at all, “it wasn’t like I wanted it to happen,” he sighed. 

She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead at the elevator door. They were headed to a locksmith because Mingyu had, in all his infinite, drunken wisdom, decided to handcuff them together. 

And then he almost immediately lost the fucking key. 

She tapped her foot impatiently, watching the elevator floor indicator slowly ticking up as the elevator ascended. She groaned as the elevator finally arrived at their floor. It had been on the fritz all that week. She would have taken the stairs if it were up to her, but she couldn’t exactly drag the biggest puppy in existence to the stairwell, could she? 

It was like anything else between them lately - they were at loggerheads over what should be nothing at all. If anything, the lost key and the trip to the locksmith should be some silly lore between them, instead, of this tense moment with them both fighting to rip one another’s hand off. 

He had pulled her back from the stairwell though. He was convinced that they would fall if they took the stairs because she was in such a rush. She had ignored the way he looked at her when he said that bit - she definitely ignored the way he seemed to imply she was rushing away from him. 

Besides, he decided they should take the dodgy elevator. In her mind, if they died, it would 100% be his fault, and her ghost would trap his ghost in the earthly realm and force him to ride the elevator with her infinity times. He would regret ever implying that she was running away from him. 

Mingyu shook his head at her and walked into the elevator, pulling her along by the wrist as he went. “You know I’m right about this being faster,” he added as he punched the button for the ground floor.

“Yes, the faster way to death,” she proclaimed in obvious frustration. 

“It’s not that bad - actually, if you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t even think the elevator had been weird this week,” he said sounding a bit too smug for her liking. 

“Actually...” She couldn’t help imitating him - he was the king of ‘well, actually.’ And ‘well, actually,’ she wanted to smack him. It was his fault she was headed to a locksmith with her left hand in a set of fucking handcuffs! It was so ridiculous! 

She wanted to stamp her foot and make a scene - it was so. fucking. STUPID. Just like so many other things between them lately.

She let out a deep sigh, knowing that she shouldn’t be that upset. It could have happened with any of their friends - they had all been playing around with the handcuffs since they found them in her roommate’s bedroom. They had become part of whatever chimera of a drinking game they were playing. 

But it hadn’t happened to anyone else. It happened to her and mingyu - why did it have to be him, she wondered. She didn’t want to be upset with him. She was too tired for it. 

She leaned against the elevator wall, listening to the dull hum of the machine. She really wished they had just taken the stairs. 

She bit her lip and stole a glance at Mingyu - he looked fairly pathetic while staring at the floor, or at least uncomfortable. She had seen his face when the key slipped out of his grasp too - it was like his soul had left his body. She had immediately felt bad for him. Everyone already joked about how clumsy he could be.  

He had glanced up at her with such a worried look. It stuck in her mind, the way he looked - like he had dropped much more than a key. 

She closed her eyes, trying to think positively about the elevator. And push any other thoughts to the side. She knew it would go from floor 23 to the ground floor without any problems at all - she tried to quiet her anxiety. 

And for a few moments, it moved normally, right up until they were - she could only assume - between floors 12 and 14. Their building didn’t have a 13th floor, technically. At least she didn’t think it did. But they certainly seemed stuck where one would be.

She watched Mingyu try pressing the button for the ground floor a few times before finally looking defeated and pushing the ‘help’ button. 

Luckily for them, the ‘help’ button seemed to do absolutely fuck all. She stared at it for a moment - that stupid little ominous button - it wasn’t like anyone wanted to be in the situation where they needed to push the ‘help’ button. But here they were. 

She walked over and tried pushing it for herself. And still, nothing happened.

“I do know how buttons work,” he whispered - his annoyance obvious and his voice drawing a clear line under ‘do.’ 

She rolled her eyes and glanced at him. “I’m not questioning your button-pushing skills,” she snapped, her voice harsher than she meant, “Sorry, just you know what if it worked or something - I don’t know - like maybe you need to push it three more times for it to decide you’re really calling for help,” she shrugged. 

He blinked at her. “Because the button is deciding something?” He asked with a raised brow. 

She shook her head. “Just - it was worth a try, okay.” She went back to her place against the wall.

Their building was old and sometimes goofy like that. To her, it seemed totally reasonable to have a go at the button. 

“At least now you’ll be able to tell everyone how I got us stuck in an elevator,” he muttered. 

Again, she rolled her eyes. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” He asked sharply.

She was thrown off for a moment by his tone - she had never heard him sound that annoyed. Even if he didn’t - even if things weren’t the same. 

“Assume I’m going to be mean?” Her voice trailed off, and she immediately wondered if they had run out of oxygen because what had made her say that?

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, y/n,” he sighed, “I’m sure the button does something,” he added. She nodded but wasn’t so sure.

✶⋆.˚

He kept checking his watch for the first few minutes, dragging her arm along with his as he did so. And then he started checking his phone, clicking the home screen on and off, on and off. 

She knew they didn’t have service - the elevator was the place where all calls dropped. Even text messages didn’t send. Or if they did, people got them at weird times. It was a virtual dead zone. 

She tried to be more practical about it all and contemplated if she could maybe fit her hand through the handcuff so they weren’t stuck right next to one another. But every time she pulled her hand, she pulled his too.

He finally jerked his hand back from her. “Your hands are not that small - and no, you very clearly, can’t dislocate your thumb like a magician, so please stop trying.” He sounded like he was telling off a small child. 

“Sorryyyyy for trying,” she muttered. She glanced away from him. He didn’t need to know that he had maybe succeeded at hurting her feelings. 

She looked away from him, focusing on the wall, pouting. She hated everything about this - they really could be minutes away from plummeting to their deaths, and she was about to spend, potentially, her last minutes on earth with someone who couldn’t stand her anymore. 

And when she felt a single, horrible, little tear trace down her cheek, everything instantly became that much worse. 

She tried to force herself to stop crying and only ended up sniffling loudly. She knew he heard her. The elevator was too small - the air was too stifling - they could hear one another breathing. So naturally, he could hear her crying like an idiot. 

It surprised her when he squeezed her hand lightly. “Everything will be okay,” he murmured. 

That was too much though - his warm hand gently squeezing hers in reassurance that they weren’t about to die. She tried to pull away enough to hide in one corner of the elevator. She had some dignity. 

Or she thought she did until he simply followed her to her corner and slid his arms around her waist. He pressed close to her as he held her. She wished that it made her feel claustrophobic. Instead, she turned around quickly and buried her face against his chest. 

“It’s like final destination or a zombie movie - we’re going to be stuck and have to climb out on top of the elevator or something and then the cord snaps no matter what,” she whined. 

He gave a soft snort, “It’s not like that, y/n, I promise,” he murmured, as his free hand traced gently along her back. 

She closed her eyes tightly, hoping her mind would calm down. She breathed him in and realized how much she had missed his warmth and how safe he made her feel. She was crying in earnest, warm tears streamed down her cheeks and darkened his shirt. 

He kissed the crown of her head. “Everything will be okay,” he whispered. 

She shook her head, leaning up to look at him, “Everything?” She met his gaze with a pleading look.

She watched the way he bit his lower lip. “Yes, everything.” He sounded so certain. She didn’t hesitate to nod along. 

“I feel like everything we say is wrong though - things get a little better and then we ruin it all over again,” she confessed, managing to meet his gaze the entire time.

He shook his head to that. “No, baby,” he leaned close, his lips barely grazing hers, “nothing is ruined between us.” He kissed her tenderly then. His lips lingered on hers. 

He pulled away just enough to speak.“Sometimes, things just aren’t as easy as we want them to be.”

She swallowed roughly. “I just want you to be happy - I want to make you happy.”

He hugged her closer. “But I am happy,” he murmured, pulling her even closer somehow. “You make me happy, even when we’re annoyed with each other.”

She nuzzled against him - her last tears drying at the corners of her eyes. 

She barely noticed when the elevator started to move again. It was almost like it had stopped for them, making space for them to talk. 

a/n: yea...more angsty but yayyyyy togethernessss...fr i thought this would be smutty

♡ kat

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞

teasers: mingyuAI [ teaser i ] [ teaser ii ] |୨୧| all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

drabbles: summer coworker | happy hour | soft dom | kinky puppy | sex toy play | valentine's day | puppy play gyu | morning mingyu (cute / fluff) | #kat_drabbles

angst: no blueberries master list (college au)

fluff: waiting to feel foolish (college au) |୨୧| never happened before (magical realism au) |୨୧| hoodies & candy (college au) |୨୧| no strings (magical realm au) [pt. 1]

smut: playing hearts (college au | camboy au) |୨୧| leave it open (monster!mingyu au) |୨୧| openly pining (stepbrother au) |୨୧| 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

series: my familiar (magical realism au) [pt. 1 f] [pt. 2 - coming soon]

mingyu bingo: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles | internet friends + blind date + size kink | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference |

mingyu x noona agenda: praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference | 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 |

[ taglist ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎

☁︎ @ninigyuuu [k.mg - e, b.f. priv] ☁︎ @starlit-rin [k.mg - one/multi, b.f.non] ☁︎

[bambisnc]

(   ➴ ) 𝒮𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖮𝖥 𝖡𝖤𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖲𝖮𝖡𝖤𝖱 ♡ pretending it’s not a song about you

౨ৎ ˚ if getting drunk is what it takes to have the courage to confess, then that's exactly what myungjae will do <3

### . STARRING ⌢ m.jh ⋆ drabble + 0.8k // drinking ! + swearing + kissing + unedited ˖ ✧

𝓍𝗈𝗑𝗈 ─── gewd morning chat (it's 3.37 am) + [FILE.ZIP]

myung jaehyun had never been a fan of lychee soju. 

something about its saccharine stickiness just seemed a little too overpowering for his taste. the way its cloying sweetness seemed to linger much longer than necessary was simply … off putting to him.

so why was it that he was currently downing shot after shot of said drink like a man on a mission?

well if you asked him - his easy, candid answer would be that it was, in fact, all because of you.

it wasn’t like jaehyun had a problem with how unfairly gorgeous you looked that day, sitting right across from him in the now rather crowded bar. 

neither did he have a problem with the way you threw your head back and laughed at something riwoo said. he’d always found it rather charming really, your laugh.

however, he would've preferred it a tad bit more if it was him who was the one making you laugh instead.

jaehyun didn’t particularly mind the fact that you had yet to look at him, properly look at him since the beginning of the evening, either. 

you’d walked in together then, the cozy ambiance around you lit up by soft, warm lights — and he’d still had hope for the next 5 or 6 hours. but of course, things never really went how he wanted them to.

with the first onset of fresh faces, some recognizable some not, a sinking feeling made itself known. and before he knew it, he’d lost you to a conversation with some seniors. 

… so okay, maybe he did have some problems.

but it wasn’t as if he was about to blame any of them on you. he wouldn’t even dare to. 

hence, he now found himself lost in the haze of alcohol and thoughts of how he’d ended up in such a state, deprived of your company 

so lost in his reveries was he, that jaehyun almost didn’t hear you when you spoke up. 

almost.

“people are really getting drunk now, huh? i think we all need something to cool us down, haha.” you’d always been so considerate. it was only natural one would end up falling for you, he pondered.

“should i go pick up some ice-cream from the convenience store for everyone?”

an angel. you had to be an angel.

and before he even knew it, he’d all but lept out of his seat — hand raised in a sign of volunteering.

receiving a few weirded out glances and side eye’s really didn’t matter to him. jaehyun was more focused on the way you smiled and tilted your head, beckoning him encouragingly to come along.

-

drunk determination goes a long way.

that was the only possible explanation behind myung jaehyun managing to somehow walk in a straight line despite being absolutely shitfaced. 

as the two of you mapped your way to the store, you rambled on about how fun the evening had been so far, then about how the song playing at the bar was actually one of your favorites and lastly about how you were honestly glad to be out and getting some fresh air.

and jaehyun listens with all the patience in the world. his uncharacteristic quiet unbroken all the while you talk. until, at some point, the conversation lulls.

“you’re so pretty,” he mumbles, gaze suddenly turned away from you. “and you’re nice. and smart. and your voice is so … pretty. 

everything about you. so, so pretty..”

you blink, a little startled by the sudden compliments. “thank you (?) you’re way too sweet sometimes, y’know?”

“and … and i think i wanna confess to you.” he continues, stumbling a little — on the sidewalk, on his words, on the weight of everything left unspoken; yet his tone lets on zero hesitation.

you catch his elbow to steady him, brows furrowed but lips twitching upward. “you’re sort of already doing that, i’m afraid...”

“i am?” he looks confused, slightly glassy-eyed and flushed.

you can only huff out a barely audible laugh in response, mumbling a quick “yeah.”

his monologue continues as you reach out and lightly trace your thumb along his lower lip. just to make sure he knows what’s coming, to ensure he’s okay with it.

and then, you kiss him. 

the movement is gentle. soft. careful in a way that has him slightly weak in the knees.

“you’re such an idiot,” you can’t help but affectionately whisper as you pull away just a little. 

jaehyun immediately leans forward to reduce the newly created distance, “yeah,” he adds breathlessly. “but i’m your idiot now.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. 

tugging him a little closer, you kiss him again, right there on the sidewalk, with your ice cream mission temporarily forgotten. 

you’d always been a fan of lychee soju.

but now?

… now, it tasted a little sweeter.

𐙚 . regulars : @cuntyhoesstuff @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @flipitkickit @soonahuh @chrrific ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello guys!

I just wanted to address something. I'm always super happy when one of you sends me a request, and I always try my best to write it as much as possible.

Sometimes, though, I deleted for different reasons. It could be because I got a request with the same question (happens quiet often🤭) because after months of having it in my inbox, I still have no inspiration....

I always try my best and have to apologise if I ever didn't write one of your requests. I'm really trying my best.

However, those reasons happen very seldom. Per day, I get at least 5 requests, which always makes me very happy because I love writing for guys. You gus are the best!

Sadly, I have to address this matter now. What I don't want is any weird request, where the kid interrupts her parents while they are doing the dirty, or where the kid is filled with jealousy towards one of her family members.

Or to always ask me to write the same concept of a story I already posted just with a different parent (For me, it is hard, because I have already written a story like that and don't want a copy of it).

Also, I understand that everyone has a favourite driver, so do I. But spamming me full with the request of the same driver is too much.

I know this person properly didn't mean anything bad behind this and I'm not mad. I just wanted to address this problem before anyone else has the idea to report me just because I didn't write their request. And yes, that really happened before.

But please keep in mind that we, the authors, don't have to have our request open for everyone (and the ability to send requests anonymous). So please be respectful towards each author on tumblr.

Don't be mean or disrespectful when we don't write your requests, because we don't have to. We are not obliged to write it.

This isnt supposed to be any kind of threat or something, it's just a little reminder that most of the authors on Tumblr do this for free, so please treat everyone kindly.

All of this doesn't mean that I won't continue writing your requests. It just means to please think twice about what you are sending the author because we also have a line that we don't want to cross, and this clearly happened today.

It might sound silly to some people, but I felt really uncomfortable with getting 8 requests for the same driver with his girlfriend, and some of them were really weird. Please don't judge me about my decision to put out this statement. But I believe this is a matter that happens to some authors quite often, and it never gets addressed.

What I said above also doesn't count for all my followers, just for this specific kind of person who sent me all of these requests (I'm 99.99% certain it's the same user). You guys are truly amazing people and thank you for all the support you give me.

I'm exited to write some new stories for you and hope you guys aren't mad at me for putting out a statements.

Have an amazing day, and please don't be shy to send me some requests (but please not those kinds of requests)😉

- Ariana 🤍🦢

P.S: I also added the screenshot of the requests so no one can accuse me of lying. I am aware that to some of you, those request are harmless, but to me, they weren't. It was either a weird one or one about jealousy or one that is too similar to another or an already posted story of mine.

[eshithepetty]

WHAT IS HER PROBLEM? (Dream BBQ ENA) (aka what is her neurodivergence.... don't tell me she's neurotypical, I don't believe you)

Also I would have included PTSD, but I feel like that one is kinda like. Given. Lmao

P.s. pretty pretty please I would like if this didn't start discourse, everyone is allowed to see themselves in characters however they like etc etc. Except if someone is being obviously and intentionally bigoted. Then idk. Kill them with hammers ig

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

———————————————————————————

Masterlist

Chapter three: Laugh Track

———————————————————————————

By the fifth pub, Y/N’s voice is starting to slur at the edges.

Not dramatically—just enough to notice it herself. Her cheeks are warm, her thoughts a little looser than they were two hours ago. She's riding that golden middle ground between anxiety and abandon, the space where self-consciousness starts to soften around the edges.

She doesn’t quite trust it, but she’s letting herself sit in it for now.

ArthurTV is waving a receipt like a victory flag. “Ten pubs is a scam,” he announces to no one. “It’s just capitalism in a different hat.”

“Mate,” Bach replies, gesturing at him with a chip, “you just spent thirty quid on nachos and a single pint.”

“It came with extra guac,” Arthur says, affronted.

Y/N snorts into her drink.

She doesn’t remember the last time she laughed this much with people she barely knows. Her default setting has always been cautious—a little held back, always scanning the room, looking for cues on when to speak and when to disappear. But today, dressed like a walking punchline and surrounded by people who don’t seem to care about how they’re perceived, it almost feels... safe.

“Okay,” Bach says, peering at the bingo list again. “We still need to: swap shoes, skull a pint on the street, and get a stranger to sing to us. Oh and swim? Even though we did but it was for a bonus point?”

“Who made this list?” Y/N asks, squinting at the chaotic scrawl. “Are they okay? Mentally?”

“Chris,” ArthurTV answers, deadpan. “So, no.”

“Explains a lot,” she mutters. “It’s giving energy drink and repressed trauma.”

Bach grins. “It’s giving ‘second breakfast is the only joy I have left.’”

“Yeah,” Arthur adds. “It’s very ‘Frodo, but with a YouTube channel.’”

Y/N laughs, sharp and surprised. “Are we just bullying Chris for being short now?”

“Not short,” Bach says solemnly. “Hobbit-sized.”

They dissolve into laughter again, loud enough that a guy at a nearby table gives them a look.

By the time they reach the sixth pub of the afternoon, they’re starting to feel the buzz settling deep into their bones. The city around them seems blurrier, friendlier. A drunker London, Y/N thinks, is a slightly more magical one.

They’re halfway through convincing a guy in a Tottenham jersey to sing Bohemian Rhapsody when her phone buzzes again.

Chris

> Tell Bach his big nose is getting in the way of our win

> Also we’re at pub 6. Suck it.

Y/N shows the message to Bach without saying a word.

“Tell Chris I said I hope Sauron wins,” Bach says immediately.

Arthur nods. “Tell him to enjoy his pints in the Shire.”

She grins as she types. Being the group’s designated roaster-by-proxy wasn’t on her bingo list for today, but she’s not mad about it.

Then she sees him again.

George.

Across the street this time, stepping out of a corner shop with Arthur Hill. They’ve got plastic bags in hand and smiles that look way too relaxed for a competition. George spots her first, raising a hand in casual greeting.

She returns it—awkwardly. Her stomach does a weird little somersault.

She hates how aware she is of him. Like her body’s antennae pick up on him before her brain does. It’s not helpful. He hasn’t even done anything new. Just exists nearby, and her pulse decides to act out.

“Earth to Y/N,” ArthurTV says, waving a hand. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “Zoned out for a sec.”

She doesn’t explain what she was zoning out about. No one needs to know she’s mentally editing the way George said Nice shirt earlier like it’s an embarrassing voice note she can’t delete.

Eventually, they do manage to get a stranger to sing for them—badly, loudly, and completely off-key. Bach gives him a standing ovation like he’s just watched Les Mis.

Challenge complete.

By the time they reach pub seven, Y/N’s voice is scratchier and her legs are sore, but the warmth hasn’t left her chest. She feels... light. Like she’s slowly unhooking from the weight she didn’t realize she walked in with.

They wedge themselves into a booth again, chips in the center, drinks in hand. ArthurTV offers her a sip of something that tastes like battery acid. She politely declines.

Then George shows up again.

Of course he does.

He wanders in like he’s not part of a competing team but just happened to find them. Pint in one hand, smirk in place, like the universe told him she was finally starting to relax and he took it personally.

“Thought you guys might be in here,” he says casually.

“Or you were stalking us,” Bach offers.

George ignores him and looks straight at Y/N. “You surviving?”

“Just about,” she says, shrugging. “Haven’t been hit by a car yet, so I’m counting it as a win.”

He chuckles. “Low bar. I respect it.”

He leans against the edge of the booth, not sitting—just hovering in her space enough to make it feel deliberate.

“You’ve got something on your shirt,” he says, motioning vaguely toward her chest.

She instinctively glances down.

“Just kidding,” he says, already grinning. “Wanted to see if you’d fall for it.”

She groans. “You are the worst”

“Pretty sure you love it.”

She rolls her eyes but her mouth betrays her, lips tugging up into an involuntary smile.

ArthurTV watches the exchange like he’s clocking something but wisely doesn’t say a word.

George lingers for another minute, then disappears again. Back into the noise. The pub feels a little louder once he’s gone. Y/N exhales, not realizing she was holding her breath.

Bach eyes her. “You’ve got a little George crush, don’t you?”

Y/N nearly chokes on her drink. “Absolutely not.”

“Uh-huh,” Bach says knowingly.

Arthur raises a hand. “As a neutral third party, I can confirm: you definitely do.”

She buries her face in her hands. “I hate all of you.”

But she’s smiling. And somewhere under the teasing, the embarrassment, and the buzz of too many half-pints and inside jokes, there’s something else.

Something settling.

Something starting.

———————

I’ve already written 14 parts for this story… it goes into normal life streaming together, etc after this. Let me know if you guys like it!!! It’s very slow burn soz 💛💛

Masterlist

[silver-the-pendejo]

Why? Bee!Reader x Hyrule

Is headcanons and shit :D (Cause I cannot actually write a one-shot bout this shit)

Hyrule (LU) x Bee!Reader Crack Warnings: Reader is a bee, Hyrule loves a bee. That's all Reader is Gender Neutral Words:1171

🧚🏻‍♀️How They Met🐝

Hyrule hadn’t meant to wander so far from the camp. He’d shifted into his fairy form to quietly scout ahead, hoping to avoid attention from the monsters that they had been stalking. Being small, glowing, and winged had its perks—especially when you needed to slip past things unnoticed.

He fluttered lazily through a quiet meadow, the wind soft and warm, the sun just peeking over the trees. The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and golden pollen. The petals shimmered with dew, and the world felt slow, gentle… peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

Just as Hyrule dipped down to rest on the wide petals of a particularly lovely golden bloom, a voice snapped through the air like a thorny vine:

“Hey, glitter boy! That’s my flower.”

Hyrule flinched, nearly losing control of his wings. He hovered in place, blinking in confusion, until his eyes landed on the source of the voice—and there you were.

You stood firmly on the tip of a poppy, wings buzzing in irritation, arms crossed over your fuzzy thorax, antennae twitching with judgment. Your bright black and yellow form looked like sunshine with an attitude. A small satchel made of leaves and silk strands was slung across your middle, and from the sheer vibe you gave off, Hyrule immediately clocked you as someone who was going to sting him, hard.

“…Excuse me?” Hyrule said, more confused than offended.

“I said, that’s my flower,” you repeated, now zipping closer until you were hovering eye-to-eye. “This is part of my foraging route. I tagged it earlier. You’re stealing pollen.”

“I wasn’t even touching the pollen,” Hyrule huffed. “I just needed to rest my wings!”

You circled him suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “You sparkle suspiciously.”

“You sparkle more.”

“Excuse you?!”

“I didn’t know bees could talk!” “I didn’t know fairies actually existed outside bedtime stories and weird stories told by my friend”.

It was a mess of accusations and midair bickering—neither of you backing down, both buzzing louder and louder, spiraling into full dramatic mode over one flower like it was the last nectar source on earth.

Eventually, after several rounds of "you're in my territory" and “well maybe you should put up better signage,” Hyrule finally landed on a nearby mushroom and sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to mess up your pollen run. I just thought the flower was pretty.”

You paused mid-flight. “…It is pretty,” you muttered, slowly floating down beside him. “I mean, it’s the only decent one left in this field. All the others got ruined by those big, stompy deer-things.”

“Moose?”

“I don’t know what they’re called,” you said, waving a tiny arm. “They’re just giant, clumsy jerks.”

That was the moment something shifted.

You both looked at each other—still a little irritated, but now with that awkward kind of interest that comes after two people yell at each other and realize they kinda liked it.

“…I’m Hyrule,” he offered after a beat.

You buzzed your wings gently, fluffing your scarf. “I’m Y/N.”

He smiled. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You squinted. “Still mad at you for sitting on my flower.”

“Still sorry.”

“…Fine. You’re forgiven. But only because you glow.”

You ended up talking for hours after that—about flowers, weird forest creatures, and why fairies shouldn’t sparkle so much near bee territory. You showed him your satchel of rare pollens, and he let you sit in the glow of his wings when the sun started to dip low.

And from that moment on, the two of you became… well. Something.

🌼Relationship Vibes🌼

They are the epitome of tiny chaos couple. Reader is high-energy and full of buzzing commentary, and Hyrule is calm, sweet, and sparkly.

Hyrule loves how passionate they are about everything. Reader will give an impromptu speech about pollinator rights, and he just listens with a dreamy look on his face.

Reader is ✨ half an inch tall ✨ and filled with righteous rage. Hyrule is ✨ 3 inches tall ✨ and made of sparkle magic. They are perfect.

Reader flirts by offering honey and flower petals. Hyrule flirts by making them little leaf capes and glowing softly when they are near.

When Reader is upset, their wings buzz louder and faster. Hyrule just gently floats nearby, holding out a drop of nectar like “Hey… wanna talk?”

🐝 Tiny Couple Things🐝

They sleep curled up in the petals of a closed tulip. Reader lies on Hyrule’s chest, their wings buzzing softly as his fairy glow lights up their flower-bed.

Hyrule sometimes hums little melodies when they’re flying together. Reader hums back and harmonizes with their wings.

They ride the wind together for fun, using fallen leaves as gliders.

Hyrule learned how to “dance” like a bee to communicate with Reader. It’s… a little awkward. But he tries.

Reader gets jealous of butterflies because “they’re pretty and full of themselves.” Hyrule just reassures them like: “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And you sting.”

🍯With the Chain🍯

Reader perches on Hyrule’s shoulder when he’s full-sized. They’ll tug on his hair when their needs his attention or whisper sass into his ear like a shoulder demon.

Wild is obsessed with their honey. They now has a full-time job protecting their stash from that man.

Time keeps nearly stepping on them. Hyrule has to physically stop them from throwing pollen bombs at his boots.

Twilight is afraid to swat any insect now. Reader once yelled at him for killing a fly. “That could’ve been my cousin, you monster!”

Wind thinks their’s the coolest bug he’s ever seen and wants them to teach him how to “fly like a bee.”

Legend is just… over it. “If that bee calls me ‘buzz kill’ one more time—”

Warriors treats them like royalty. He sets out tiny tea cups of nectar like he’s serving a queen. If Reader raises a wing dramatically and demands “proper service,” he absolutely plays along.

Four is obsessed in a scientist kind of way. He’s built them tools, gadgets, even a flower-sized glider. They race often when he is on his minish form (Reader always wins), and they won’t let him forget it.

Sky once offered Reader a flower once, and now they're best friends forever—he didn’t know that was a binding bee contract.

💖Affection & Comfort💖

Reader often lands on Hyrule’s nose or cheek and nuzzles him gently. He goes red every time.

They’ll give him little “bee kisses” by pressing their head gently against his. It’s their version of a forehead kiss.

Hyrule builds them a little wooden swing out of bark and thread and hangs it on his belt so they has a place to chill when he's traveling.

Reader acts all tough, but when they are scared (like in storms or strong winds), they hides in his clothes and curls up close to his chest.

Hyrule always keeps a flower in his pocket for them. They says it’s romantic, but mostly they are just hungry.

Ima go check the poll an see what's next :D pspspspsppss @chopistuff look what i got Inbox open as always

LU Masterlist

[dannydoesthisthing27]

Damien and the way his relationship with himself has changed since he stopped keeping his primary focus on academics

Damien that never understood why he was "the weird one" for enjoying stuff like school because that was one of the places he thrived the most

Damien who's mother is French-Canadian but moved to the U.S. before Damien was born and that's why he learned french as a kid. He's rusty now because he doesn't have a lot of practical uses for french. He does however still recite poetry in french when Huxley can't sleep (or asks him to) (Huxley loves when Damien speaks French)

Damien meeting Freelancer and not knowing what to do with this new project partner. Damien that was dreading another partner like Kody because he needed to pass that class. Damien realizing very suddenly that he cares about this person when they start explaining that they actually had experience with Kody

Damien agreeing to go bowling on a whim because he actually wants to for once. Him being the second one to arrive, which surprised him until he realized it was Lasko. Huxley shocking him with not only his size, but his openness. Damien realizing a few things about himself that day

Damien not knowing how to process what he's feeling because he never had a chance to feel it before

Damien going to FL for advice but not saying who he's interested in because he doesn't even know if he can admit it to himself, let alone someone else

Damien closing himself back off after the inversion, tearing himself apart with guilt and anger

Damien relearning his relationship with his fire, and his friends

Damien deciding that he wants to go to therapy. Not just because of the trauma from the inversion but because he feels like there's more than that, and he wants help

Damien being the first one to ask if they could all get together and hang out. His concern only growing when he sees how closed off Lasko is being, and his first words of concern coming out aggressive. Him recognizing that and taking a second to correct his wording and tone to convey how he's really feeling

Huxley inviting Damien to the beach for a game of volleyball because it had been a while since they got to hang out alone. Damien of all people not able to keep track of the score because the man across the net is making him think too much.

Damien getting stuck in a spiral when they get back to Huxleys place and trying to leave so that he doesn't accidentally say something. Huxley shutting him down with a few soft looks and an invitation to stay

Damien realizing that if he doesn't tell Huxley how he feels in that moment then he probably never will. Damien nearly passing out from relief when Huxley tells him he feels the same

Damen being nervous about telling his friends, because he knows how badly people can react to news like this. Gavin teasing him, but still reassuring him that it's going to be ok. Damien feeling a little bit of pressure come off his chest and being greatful to Gavin even though he's ticked off (I think Damiens' first reaction to nerves and anxiety is aggression even though he doesn't mean to. Anxiety to him is like walls closing in and lashing out is his knee jerk reaction regardless of what the situation would call for. Hes getting better at not snapping at people)

Damien hoping that it will go well when he tells his mom, even though he knows she's got opinions. Him afterwards feeling almost numb for a few days until he's able to process it. Huxley reassuring him that he's allowed to be himself without feeling guilty

Damien still feeling the after affects of the inversion every solstice despite how far he's come in therapy. His therapist reccomending a secondary course of treatment specifically for PTSD (his initial therapy was generalized so he could talk about anything, but it was often the inversion at first)

Damien getting the humanborn support group started and feeling proud of himself and his friends for actually accomplishing something that can help people

Damien starting to breakdown prejudice against de(a)mons with the help of Gavin and a mystery note leaver that communicates through Gavin. According to Gav "it's a deamon friend he's just shy around humans"

Damien taking Lasko to the gym when he asked to go and being worried the whole time because Lasko looks like he's going to pass out. Lasko admiring Damiens' abilities and offering support where he thinks he can

Damien and Dear spending hours talking about different magic types and how many different ways magic can be applied to every day life as aids

Damien learning to take time for himself (much to his own chagrin and Huxleys delight) and discovering he really likes watching animated movies with the crew. (Studio Ghibli and classic disney/pixar/DreamWorks stuff)

Damien who found his smile in the least expected places

Damien who bought a promise ring and is keeping it safe until the right moment, because even if he's not proposing, it's still important (personally I don't see anyone in the d.a.m.n crew as the type to get married but stuff like promise rings are still sentimental for them)

Gavin who's the only one that knows because Damien needed advice on what style of ring to pick because he was to anxious to make a proper decision on his own (and Gavin knows the best jewlery stores)

Damien going for walks with Freelancer on occasion because they both use physical outlets to slow down their minds

Damien 🥰 (<his name in huxleys phone)

[intriga-hounds]

Hi, I've been slowly becoming more obsessed with silkens (and borzoi) for the past few years but I've never met one in person. I can't find anything that I don't like based on how people talk about them, but people don't talk about them negatively, ever, so I can't be sure! So: what would you tell someone if you wanted to turn them off from the breed? Like their absolute worst common behaviors, quirks, or health stuff. Anything. I hope this isn't a weird question?

There are a lot of unethical breeders, or just straight up unknowledgeable breeders. I’m seeing a lot of reactivity in the breed and nervous or sharp temperaments.

If you get a good silken, it’ll be the best thing to ever happen to you. If you get a bad one, well, good luck.