#well there's one way to fix that... ◉⁠‿⁠◉

[girlgenius1111]

Alexia, bedroom, “do you not love me anymore”

i’m picturing like r is on her period and hormonal and irrational or something similar, not like legit angst where she actually thinks that

pain relief

alexia putellas x reader

You were curled up into a tiny ball on the couch when Alexia walked through the door, as if making yourself small enough would rid your abdomen and back of the pulsing pain currently afflicting it. Fading blonde hair hanging slightly damp around her shoulders, your girlfriend frowned sympathetically, dropping her bag by the door and kicking her shoes off. 

Any other day, you would have scolded her for the haphazard way she left her stuff, but today you didn’t have it in you. Instead, you just gazed at your girlfriend, the deep frown on your own face and the position of your body enough to tell Alexia just how badly you were feeling. 

“Hi there.” She greeted, walking over to you and sitting on the very edge of the couch. Her hand cupped your cheek, her lips pressing against yours in a chaste kiss. “Not feeling any better?” 

“No.” You replied, voice wavering as the comforting sight of your girlfriend in front of you only increased the pity you felt for yourself. 

“I’m sorry, amor.” Alexia whispered, smiling softly as you leaned into her touch. Still, her eyes flitted about the surrounding area, taking in the lack of water, the lack of any plate or bowl, the lack of your heating pad or any pain medications. You were always stubborn about allowing Alexia to care for you, pushing her out the door to training that morning insisting that you could get everything you needed yourself. 

The blonde didn’t enjoy training half as much without you there, and she’d been suitably distracted by the thought of you home all by yourself, in pain. It seemed her fears hadn’t been unfounded. 

“Have you eaten?”

You shook your head.

“Taken any medicine?” 

Another head shake. 

“Water? Heating pad? Anything?” Again, you shook your head, and Alexia’s frown deepened. “Amor–”

“I was going to eat and take something but then I laid down and I didn’t want to get up.” You explained, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as your lip quivered. “Sorry.” 

Your girlfriend sighed. “Don’t be sorry, bebita. I just wish you’d let me do more for you when you aren’t well.” 

“I can handle it.” You said the statement automatically, though you were painfully aware it made no sense; you were still curled up into a ball on your side, unwilling to move even as you craved the comfort of Alexia’s arms wrapping around you, knowing full well movement from this position would hurt. 

Alexia fixed you with a look, one that told you she wasn’t in the mood for you to be stoic and try to push through the pain. “You haven’t moved from the couch since I left. You cannot handle it.” 

Still, you were nothing if not stubborn, forcing your body out to uncurl and sit up, a pained wince flickering across your face. Alexia rolled her eyes, but helped you sit up anyway, her arm around your shoulders pulling you into her. 

“You’re being absurd. You don’t need to take care of everything yourself, not when I’m around.” Alexia told you. She craned her neck to kiss your forehead, her hand rubbing large circles into your back. You melted against her, practically, tucking your face into her sweatshirt. Almost as soon as you’d gotten comfortable, though, another spike of pain shot through your abdomen. You groaned, falling backwards onto the couch and rolling back up into your ball. 

“Oh, amor.” Alexia sighed. “What can I do?” 

“Heating pad.” You replied, voice muffled by the couch cushion your face was pressing into. 

Alexia got to her feet right away, hurrying off to get a heating pad. She returned quickly, gently nudging you until you stretched back out and allowed her to push your shirt up, placing the heating pad across your stomach. She turned the heating pad on, resting her hands over it to carefully press it into your skin. Alexia worried her lip between her teeth, gazing down at you with worry clouding her face. 

“Has it been like this all day?” She wondered. 

You shrugged noncommittaly in response and your girlfriend sighed again. You knew what she was going to say before she said it, but that didn’t help the disappointment you felt in yourself when she spoke. “Amor, they are getting worse.” Alexia murmured, running her thumb back and forth over your cheekbone. 

“I know.” You whispered. 

Alexia didn’t understand, couldn’t understand why you refused to make the phone call to see your doctor, and address the horrific periods you’d been having. There was some kind of mental block for you, and it was simply a task you couldn’t get done. Instead, you pushed it off and pushed it off until another period rolled around and you were practically bedridden for the first day. You knew Alexia was only frustrated because she hated to see you in pain, but a part of you wondered if, really, she was just tired of dealing with how moody and uncomfortable you got around this time of the month. 

Of course, this wasn’t the case at all. 

“I am so sorry you are in so much pain.” Alexia said slowly, as if able to physically see the doubts creeping into your head. “I wish I could take it away.” 

The thing was, Alexia knew that you knew what needed to be done to get yourself on track to feeling better. Nagging you about it wouldn’t do anything but make you feel worse. 

“I’ll call tomorrow.” You told her. It was something you’d said before, but the look on your face had Alexia oddly convinced that you really would call tomorrow. 

Your girlfriend’s eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled down at you, happy to see the evident pain fading from your face as the heating pad made the muscles in your stomach relax somewhat. Mentally, she checked one item off the list of things she could do to make you feel better, absolutely dead set on making your pain go away.

—

Alexia was quite successful in relieving your pain for the most part, magically caring individual that she was. It was later that evening, after Alexia had made your favorite for dinner and put her favorite show on the TV because ‘relationships were about compromise, mi amor,’  that you came to the conclusion of the one thing that would truly improve your still somewhat foul mood.  

“What is it?” Alexia asked, pausing the show after you shifted in her arms and sighed for the 5th time in the last 2 minutes. 

“Nothing.” You replied, feeling as though you’d already imposed too much upon your girlfriend so far that day. Alexia tugged the hood down from where it was pulled up over your head, tilted your face towards hers, and raised a single eyebrow in your direction. 

“I really want ice cream.” You admitted, blushing at the grin that pulled at your girlfriend’s lips. “But you made dinner, and and we’re comfortable and–” 

“I’ll get ice cream, amor, of course.” Alexia promised. “I can order it and then I don’t have to leave you.” 

Your heart melted a bit at that and you sunk even further into her embrace. Alexia opened the delivery app, clicking on your favorite ice cream shop and adding your order, which she somehow knew by heart, to the cart. You smiled into her sweatshirt… until she clicked check out. Without adding anything for herself. 

Craning your neck to look up at her, you frowned. “You… you don’t want any?” 

“No, I’m okay.” Alexia said absentmindedly, her hand gently trying to push your head to lay back on her chest. Instead, you sat up. “Amor?” 

Alexia looked up at you finally, her face falling as she noticed the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Hey, hey, hey, no crying. What’s wrong? Tell me, I’ll make it better.” Alexia cooed, taking your face in between her hands and peppering kisses across your cheeks. 

“You- you don’t want any ice cream.” You sniffled pathetically. “Do you not love me anymore?” 

Alexia would have laughed if you didn’t look so completely serious. “Bebita, I love you with my whole entire heart, I just do not feel like ice cream tonight.” 

You scoffed in response, crossing your arms over your chest and stubbornly looking away from your girlfriend. Alexia’s lip twitched, but she maintained a serious expression, using a single finger to tilt your face back towards her. 

“Are you… are you crying because I won’t eat ice cream with you?” She wondered softly, her voice amazingly free of any judgment or amusement. 

As if only realizing now how absurd you were being, your face flushed and you wiped furiously at your eyes. “God, I am. What’s wrong with me?!” 

“That is a long list, amor, how much time do you have?” 

You glared at her, but she gave you a dopey smile in response, leaning forward with her lips puckered for a kiss. You obliged, sinking back into her arms and snuggling your face into her neck. 

“You don’t have to get any ice cream.” You sighed. 

Alexia hummed, thinking for a moment. “Well, if you are going to cry about it, I may as well.” 

You poked her stomach, feeling her chest vibrate under your head as she chuckled. She must have finished the order, because she dropped her phone onto the coffee table and wrapped her arms snuggly back around you. Alexia pressed a kiss to the top of your head, playing the show again and considering how she could pretend to eat her ice cream but really sneak it into the freezer, because ice cream had been making her stomach hurt recently. With how clingy you were being, Alexia wasn’t sure she’d be successful, but she’d live. What was a stomach ache, compared to the happy smile on your face she knew she’d get to see soon. 

—

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

TEAM LOSERBOY UNITE!!! The things they will do!! The shenanigans that will ensue!! The people they will disappoint!!

I've had these turnarounds on my patreon ever since I made them, but finally, TONIGHT, I made enough time for myself to put together a casting call for their voices!! It's my first ever casting call, and first time making an animation with my own writing and audio. I'm nervous AND excited!!

I'm planning on making a short animation with these guys to get my animation sea legs again. Then, afterward, if all goes well, I'd love to make a second, longer one!! Cuz I have Ideas >:)

HERE'S THE CASTING CALL if you want to check it out, or maybe... audition??? Or if you know any loserboys in your life who you think would be a good fit voice wise, throw that link their way!

Ramble and meme thingie under the cut!

Drawing these guys was SO MUCH FUN!! Ironically, Dib, although I've drawn the hell out of him, was the hardest to get right. And honestly, he still doesn't look right to me. I think he's so specific in my mind, that he's hard to really pinpoint anymore. But I'm hoping that when I'm actually animating, he'll fall into place. Dipper turned out fine, his profile view isn't though. His posture isn't correct. And his hat isn't correct in the back. I tried to fix this a few hours ago before posting buuut for technical complications with the program I was using, I couldn't. Oh Well. Billy actually turned out the best, imo!! HE'S SUCH A CUTIE PIE!!! My billy design was HEAVILY inspired by the wonderful gaobam fanart by @sockopunch!! Here's a post with their older billy+mandy design! I'm gonna be honest, I was initially inspired in a vague sort of way, and then when the time came to color him in, I subconsciously chose the same colors and everything 😭 I may tweak these designs when the time comes to animate. But for now, this is how they're looking.

I love these guys. So. Damn. Much.

[logansbaby]

Worst Logan is probably so touch starved

oh absolutely!!!!! thank you wonderful anon for sharing bc you’ve inspired this tiny drabble <3 extremely short but completely spurred on by my need to hug worst logan ty!

no warnings! just one use of slut by wade (ofc)

word count - around 1k

also, the song hear you me by jimmy eat world kept coming to me during this so! vibes maybe?

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

Logan Howlett hates physical touch.

He hates the way people often go about trying to touch him, whether it be a brief tangle of fingers or a simple hug, he hates it.

He’s not entirely sure where it’s stemmed from, especially considering that as a younger man, he didn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because of the fact that people he cared for were always too far out of reach, leaving him a swirling mess filled with the aches that follow with unrequited feelings. Or, maybe its the fact that once he’d begun to open up to the people he considered family, he’d failed to protect them, only left to ruin their legacy with his destructive, lethal grief.

The reason doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s okay with being alone, nursing copious amounts of whisky shots to numb his loud thoughts.

His plan of rotting away in a bar alone goes to shit the minute Wade shows up and drags him into the shit show he’d landed himself in.

And somehow, after everything settles down, he finds himself stuck in a new universe, living with far too many bodies in Wade's apartment. He wonders why he stayed to begin with, especially with the way Wade pisses him off like no other, but he knows. In the back of his mind, he knows that the group of people he’s come to know have weaseled their way inside his guarded heart. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

The red masked man often tells him he needs to get laid, get up and find someone to fix his grumpy, brooding act he has going on if he’s not going to let Wade do it himself (his words, not Logan’s).

And whenever he presses too much, Logan’s claws will unsheathe with that unmistakable snikt! before they dig into whatever limb of Wade’s is closest.

People had caught on very early that Logan dislikes physical contact, so it’s an unspoken rule by everyone to not push the man. Well, everyone except Wade— the man has been impaled by adamantium far too many times and never learns. That, or he just likes the pain a little too much.

So, it comes to a surprise to everyone when Logan doesn’t yell at you, sink his claws into a nearby surface in warning, or growl when you wrap the man in a hug the first time you meet him.

It’s at some party thrown by Wade— purely an excuse for the man to see Vanessa under the guise of a celebration for his newest hair system— or whatever the fuck he’d rambled on about, Logan wasn’t listening.

He’d been on his way out, the ghost taste of whisky tingling his tongue as he plans to waste away at the closest bar, when he catches a glimpse of something akin to an angel.

That something is you.

You— in all your pretty glory, a beacon of light that glows through the entirety of the dull apartment with just a single smile. Hair frames your face with wisps that kiss rosy-painted cheeks as you laugh at something someone says. A floral dress sits atop of curves that will absolutely haunt his nights. The scent of you tickles his heightened senses— a swirl of vanilla and honey so sweet that he suppresses a groan.

Logan believes then and there you’re a princess, an angel, something ethereal and enchanting. He wonders then why you’re friends with Wade.

He’s already speechless at the sight of you, wrapped up in thoughts, that he doesn’t realize you’re suddenly in front of him until an obnoxious voice startles him from the depths of his mind.

“Peanut! How could you leave without saying hi to sweetness here? Horribly rude if you ask me.”

Under any normal circumstance, Logan would’ve growled at the man before him, followed by a string of curses. However, he’s too occupied with his body thrumming at the sudden proximity and closeness to you.

“Hi!”

Of course, it makes sense that your voice matches your looks; sweet and syrupy with an addictive lilt.

Before he can utter a poorly spoken sentence, his body goes rigid, every muscle within him immediately tense as an unfamiliar weight is on him.

“Oh, peaches, you don’t want to do that, Wolvie isn’t much of a hugger—“ Wade’s warning comes too late, given the fact that you’re already wrapped around the man frozen in place.

And in an instant, the entire room is silent, because everyone here has witnessed Logan’s distaste when being touched, usually at the hands of Wade.

Logan’s body tingles with how still he is— waiting for that awful feeling to consume every bit of him at the touch of another.

Except, the feeling never comes.

Oblivious, your arms squeeze Logan’s waist as you hug him tightly, head resting against his chest, where his heart hammers maddeningly.

Why is he resisting the urge to bury his nose in your hair?

“I just want to say thank you. I don’t know how you did it, Wade won’t tell me. But I know you saved this universe and I couldn’t be more grateful!”

And, what?

He's confused. You’re speaking to him like you’ve known him your whole life, and he’s not used to this. He’s familiar with people regarding him with disgust or poorly conceived opinions, not this.

“I love my life, truly! My sweet little dog, my friends, my bakery, I couldn’t imagine it being taken away quicker than a breath, so thank you, Logan. Thank you so much!”

Genuine gratefulness coats your rambled words; it’s s then Logan realizes that you’ve pulled back, though your hands still rest causally on his hips, a kind smile gracing your face.

It also dawns on him that the dreaded feeling that often follows people touching him never came Instead, a pleasant tingle kisses the skin that your hands and body touched. Logan has never been more perplexed in his life.

The feel of you is taken away promptly, Wade yanking your body away from his and pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry sweetness, but Logan isn’t known for his love for hugs. He doesn’t like people touching him, it doesn’t end well. And, considering you’re you, I prefer you alive and healthy, not being turned into a human kabob.”

And at that, you feel horror fill you up, your heart sinking, face flushing.

Because oh my gosh, you never would have done that if you had known! but why did you anyway?! you always acted without thought and clearly it had caught up with you!

“I’m so, so unbelievably sorry! I— I didn’t mean to cross boundaries or make you uncomfortable! I’m so—“ before you can ramble yourself into further embarrassment, a deep voice cuts you off.

“S’okay.”

The words are simple, quick. Yet, the delivery of them shakes every person in the room to their core. The implication isn’t to be missed— Logan has never reacted that way to being touched before.

It’s quiet— the room watching with curiosity pooling their eyes and you’re filled to the brim with mortification. And then, the silence is gone when Wade gasps dramatically.

“Peanut, I’m hurt! I thought we had something special, I’ve been playing the long game. And now that’s ruined because some slut stole you away? With a hug? No offense, angel face, but I’m feeling catty.”

His nonsense snaps you out of your head and you roll your eyes, muttering a ‘shut up!’ before focusing on Logan’s face, the man currently glaring at Wade’s face.

“Logan, I’m so sorry. I really am—“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, but what he really wants to say is please don’t be, your hug felt like home and didn’t make me feel sick for the first time in a long, long time.

You smile, weariness still present. The way your pretty lips stretch into a tiny grin, at him no less, he knows he’s got to get out of there, or he’ll spiral.

You’re about to speak again, but he can’t stop himself from following his instincts. He doesn’t say anything else before practically running out the door, his breath only releasing once he's out of your presence.

And while the man is gulping down numbing alcohol, mind a whirlwind of confusion at himself and youyouyou, the apartment is loud due to Wade having a breakdown.

“—Seriously! I get a claw to the stomach anytime I get to close but you waltz in and suddenly Logan is all for touch? I feel cheated on.”

“Wade, you’re completely overreacting. Maybe you should’ve warned me! I made a complete idiot of myself!” You huff, pacing the tiny living room to expel the anxiety coiling in your abdomen.

“No, baby. The only idiot is me for thinking he’d want me back!” Wade whines, dramatic as usual, and throws himself onto the couch, a move that lands himself in Vanessa’s lap. The woman pats his head in fake sympathy.

“Wade! Shut up, oh my god! He’s never gonna talk to me again!”

And unknowingly, both Logan and you are worrying yourselves sick about that damn hug and the spark that spread from your heart to his.

And maybe, just maybe, Logan doesn’t hate touch after all.

[plunderbunny]

This is always such a weird take on fiction and fictional characters to me... Not the idea of "liking fictional characters that would be terrible people if they were real", but the idea of "pretending we could fix them", or imagining them as our friends, or justifying/somehow valorizing their flaws, or even thinking they NEED to be justified or valorized to be good characters.

They're NOT real people, that's one interesting aspect of fiction! That fictive world is one that can definitely, without argument, be said to have a creator and a purpose... unlike our own, where much debate can be had over whether or not there is a creator or a purpose or meaning to existence. With fiction, we know it to be true, so we can analyze it from the perspective of meaning and purpose, rather than just dissect the mechanical workings of it. We can meaningfully ask questions like "what is the purpose of this character being such a terrible person in this particular way", rather than just saying "wow they're awful" or "what made them like this?"

Even stranger to me is the impulse of "I like this character, so I have to find a way that I could imagine them as my friend. If I like someone (real or fictional) I can only imagine that in the context of them being my friend." I generally dislike this phrase, largely because I think it's over-applied, but it strikes me as having a parasocial relationship with fiction. The book or movie or game or whatever isn't a friend, the characters in it aren't people you interact with, and I think approaching fiction in that way is a pretty limiting approach. I love plenty of characters that would be AWFUL people if they were real, because they're interesting and compelling characters. And I think it's a limiting approach to think of them in terms of "I want to be friends with this Bad Dude cuz I like them as a character, how can I fix them?"

Of course, this could all very well just be me being weird again... I don't remember a time where I ever did that with fiction, as a child I don't remember ever thinking "I wish I lived in this world" or fantasized about knowing the characters from fiction that I liked. I played plenty of make-believe, but I don't think I ever enjoyed it in the sense of "I love this character and want to interact with them or be in their world" as much as "it's fun to make up new stories with these characters", more role-playing/world-building than wish fulfillment.

fiction and fantasy are so fun because it's like. if i met this man in real life i would drop kick him off a cliff within three seconds of him opening his mouth. luckily for him he doesn't exist so we can all happily ignore those red flags and pretend we could fix him

[amirasainz]

Can you do driver reader, that is one of the driver that crashes during the Brazil race and causes a red flag. Can she be hurt (broken arm or smth)

I love your blog so much🤌🔥

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Rain

The sound of rain drummed steadily against the asphalt, creating a chaotic symphony that echoed throughout the Interlagos circuit. It was the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and anxiety. Yn, the first female driver for RedBull, sat in her car on the grid, heart racing, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. She glanced at the wet track ahead and could feel the tension in the air, punctuated by the distant rumble of thunder.

“Okay, Yn, focus,” her race engineer JD's voice crackled through the radio, breaking her concentration. “It’s going to be tricky out there. We’ve already seen a couple of red flags, and the conditions are only getting worse. Just take it slow, especially in the first few laps.”

“Got it, JD. I’m just going to keep my head down and stay out of trouble,” she replied, trying to mask the nerves creeping into her voice.

“Remember, we’re in it for the long game. You’re in second, just behind Max. Let’s see how it plays out, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks!” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The lights went out, and she surged forward, gripping the wheel tightly as she navigated the treacherous turns.

The rain poured relentlessly, causing visibility to plummet. The roar of engines mixed with the sound of rain, creating an overwhelming cacophony. As they completed the first lap, Yn found herself trailing closely behind Max. The two Red Bull cars danced across the slick track, carving their paths through the rain.

“Good job, Yn. Keep up with Max,” JD encouraged as she skillfully maneuvered her way through the corners.

But the rain was unforgiving. A few laps later, a sudden jolt of loss of traction sent her heart into her throat.

“JD! I’m slipping!” she shouted, trying to regain control of the car.

“Stay calm, Yn! Just counter-steer!” JD’s voice was urgent, but Yn could feel the tires struggling for grip on the waterlogged track. Suddenly, the car spun wildly, and before she knew it, her heart sank as the barriers rushed toward her.

BANG!

The impact reverberated throughout her body, and her vision blurred. The world outside turned chaotic; sirens blared, and officials waved red flags frantically.

************************************************

In the hospital, Yn was conscious but barely coherent. Her body ached, and she felt detached from reality as the medical staff worked quickly around her. She heard snippets of conversation, the beeping of machines, and the distant sounds of the race still going on outside.

Meanwhile, the other drivers were huddled in the waiting room, anxiety etched on their faces. Lando paced back and forth, glancing toward the door every few seconds.

“Why isn’t there any news yet?” he asked, running a hand through his damp hair.

“They’re probably just being thorough,” George said, trying to keep his tone light, though his worry was evident. “She’s tough. She’ll pull through.”

“Yeah, but she’s only eighteen,” Carlos added, looking serious. “It shouldn’t have happened. She was doing so well.”

“Max is taking it hard,” Charles mentioned, nodding toward the corner where Max sat silently, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Just then, the door swung open, and a doctor stepped out. “You’re here for Yn Ln, right? She’s stable, but she’s in pretty bad shape. Five broken ribs and a concussion. She’s asleep right now but is being monitored closely. We’ll let you in shortly.”

The relief was palpable, but worry still clouded the room. They exchanged glances, each trying to mask their fear for their young friend and competitor.

***************************************************

After what felt like an eternity, they were finally allowed to see her. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air as they entered the dimly lit room. Yn lay in the hospital bed, her face pale but peaceful, a tangle of wires and machines surrounding her. Flowers adorned the table next to her, a bouquet of vibrant blooms brightening the otherwise stark room.

“Look at her,” Lando whispered, stepping forward. “She looks so small.”

“She’s a fighter,” Max said quietly, his eyes glistening. He stepped closer to the bed, placing a hand on the railing. “I should have told her to back off. I should have been more careful.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Max,” Carlos said gently, joining him. “The conditions were terrible.”

George stepped up, looking around. “We should leave her something. Something to remind her we’re all here for her.”

They began placing little tokens around her bedside: a signed card from Lando, a miniature trophy from George, a chilli plushie from Carlos.

“Hey, Yn,” Charles said softly, leaning down so his face was closer to hers. “We’re all here. Just take your time to heal, okay?” Charles moved a bit to the left, placing the flowers with the rest of the things.

Then, Ollie, Yn’s bets friend and partner in crime, stepped forward, his expression softening. He took her hand gently, brushing back a stray hair from her forehead. “You’re going to be alright. Just rest, and we’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment as emotion washed over him.

A moment of silence fell over them as they stood vigil by her bedside. The beeping of the machines was a constant reminder of her fragility, but they knew she was strong.

“Can you believe she’s just eighteen and already racing with us?” Lando finally broke the silence, trying to lighten the mood. “I can’t even imagine what I was doing at that age.”

“Probably playing video games,” Ollie teased lightly, earning a chuckle from the others despite the somber atmosphere.

“She’s got so much talent,” Carlos said, glancing back at Yn. “And she’s got all of us rooting for her. That’s what matters.”

Max nodded, his gaze still locked on Yn. “She’s going to bounce back. I believe that.”

The hours passed slowly, filled with whispered conversations and laughter tinged with worry as they reminisced about the race and their shared moments on the track. They each took turns sharing stories, hoping to fill the room with positivity, so Yn could feel the love surrounding her.

Finally, as the night wore on, exhaustion crept in. One by one, they began to drift off, still seated in their chairs, leaving her surrounded by the warmth of friendship, waiting for her to wake up.

****************************************************

As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, illuminating the hospital room with a gentle glow, Yn stirred slightly in her sleep. The sound of soft murmurs and familiar laughter filtered through her consciousness.

“Look! I think she’s waking up!” George exclaimed softly, shaking Lando awake.

Max leaned forward, his eyes brightening. “Yn, can you hear us?”

With a small groan, Yn blinked open her eyes, squinting at the faces around her. “Ollie?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes! I'm here,buba! We’re here! You’re safe,” Ollie said, his eyes widening with relief, taking her hand in his, softly stroking her hair from her face.

“Hey, don’t try to move too much, petite,” Charles advised, noticing her attempt to sit up. “You’ve had a rough night.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“You crashed,” Lando said, trying to keep his tone light. “But you’re tough. You’ve got some broken ribs and a concussion, but you’ll be back on track before you know it.”

Yn closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process everything. “I remember slipping… and then nothing.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now,” Carlos reassured her. “We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up. You scared us, hermana.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the reality of her situation washed over her. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to keep up.”

Max stepped forward, his expression softening. “You did great, Yn. You’re going to come back from this even stronger.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be right behind you,” George added, his voice filled with sincerity.

The warmth of their presence surrounded her, giving her the strength she needed. “Thank you, guys. I—I really appreciate it.”

“Rest now,” Ollie said, squeezing her hand gently. “We’ll be here when you wake up again.”

And as Yn drifted back into a peaceful sleep, she felt the undeniable bond of her paddock family.

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter One

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

Heavy breaths filled the room. Charles laid against Max's chest, pressing kisses against his hand. A bitemark marred his skin, one Charles hadn't meant to place there. He hadn't meant to break Max's skin, hadn't meant to bite him just that hard.

As Charles kissed his hand, Max's attention was on his neck. He kissed his salty, sweaty skin, a small growl leaving his lips. A possessive growl, warning everybody else to stay away. Not that there was anybody else in the room with them.

The other drivers in the hotel heard his warning, heard his claim. They didn't know what it was in reference to, but knew to stay away.

"Max," Charles whispered, combing his fingers through Max's hair. He tugged on the strands, pulling Max away.

He couldn't speak, couldn't release Charles from his hold. No words would leave his lips, just growls and whines. "Max, I need to go," Charles whispered, his breathing steadier than Max's.

Max tightened his grip. No, he wouldn't let Charles go, couldn't let Charles go. His teeth grazed the skin on his neck, almost in warning. Just a few more kisses, Charles would be putty in his hands. Maybe if he bit him, showed everybody that Charles was his, just like he was Charles's.

But no, he wasn't Charles's. And Charles wasn't his. They had no claim over each other. Max released him quickly, before his body could stop him and grab for Charles again.

Charles climbed out of the hotel bed. His eyes were fixed on Max as he got himself dressed. They weren't anything but fucking, weren't in love, weren't mated wolves. They were just fucking, looking for comfort in each other that they couldn't get elsewhere.

That was what happened to wolves without packs. They had to seek bonds in a different way. And those bonds were never permanent. Temporary, fleeting bonds, moments in time.

Werewolves without a pack, without those all important bonds, were a dangerous thing. They were aggressive, with high adrenaline. That was what made them the perfect Formula One drivers.

It wasn't a decision made by the driver. The decision was made before they got to the age where pack bonds became all important, decisions made by their families. For those who didn't make it into Formula One, it ruined them, took them a long while before they could learn how to be into a pack.

Those who made it were kept isolated, alone. To those who didn't know much about Formula One, it was easy to assume that a team made up a pack. But teams were always changing, too unstable to form a pack.

Max said nothing as Charles left the hotel room. He sat there, still for a moment, his heart aching.

Charles didn't need him as badly as he needed Charles. Charles had a family unit. Not a pack; drivers were away too often to form packs, even with their families. But his mother and brothers still welcomed him home with opened arms.

Something Max didn't have.

He laid down and pulled the sheets up to his nose. Charles. But the scent wouldn't last for the entire weekend, he knew. He sucked in another deep breath, letting the scent wash over him. It was calming, the closest thing to a bond he had. But it wasn't a bond, was it? It was a fleeting moment of closeness.

There was a reason Max was the best of the best. He had no pack, and no family to return to. High adrenaline, high aggression. That was how he had several championships under his belt.

For a time, that was all he wanted. He had Charles in his bed and was winning almost every week. He didn't need anything else.

Maybe it was something that came with age, that want for a pack. Other drivers had started families, an attempt at a pack, but there was a reason they weren't performing as well as Max was.

***

You were the only one wearing a muzzle in the paddock. Muzzles weren't common now, neither was the shock collar you were wearing. It didn't stop you from growling whenever anybody got too close. 

The other drivers kept their distance. You couldn't take part in any of the social media activities that Prema did, even when you were a part of Prema. Not without putting your fellow drivers at risk. 

Your future had been decided for you. If it was up to you, you wouldn't have been here, ready to climb into your Rodin Motorsport car and win. 

But you never had much of a choice. The money had been left at the home for you, with one request. ‘Get her into Motorsport.’

Even when you left the home, the money had still been sent to you, to the woman who called herself ‘your handler’. She's the one who took care of you, who made sure you didn't neglect yourself. 

But that was bound to happen when you're half feral. 

Your hands were restrained behind your back as your muzzle and collar were removed. They pulled your balaclava over your head, narrowly avoiding you biting down on their fingers. 

They pushed the helmet onto your head. Your hands were released and you were pushed towards the car. 

Here was the thing, you were a good racer. You took every risk, normally coming out unscathed. On the occasion that somebody else was the cause of your crash, there was no holding you back. 

As good a raver as you were, it wasn't what you wanted to be doing. As a child, you had dreams, dreams you couldn't remember. The typical dreams of a kid, not this. 

You had qualified fifth, giving you room to show what you could do. God help the other drivers if they got in your way. 

You weren't concentrating as you slipped into your grid spot. Your growls from beneath your helmet couldn't be heard as you waited for the lights to go green. 

There were a couple of close calls on the race, a driver not realising who they were getting close to. But they avoided you, keeping you both on the track and keeping themselves safe from you. 

It wasn't a win, but it was a podium. Your chest was heaving as you stood up there with Paul Aron and Gabriel Bortoleto. The muzzle was back over your face and the shock collar around your neck. 

***

Not every driver was a werewolf, just most. It was one of the few sports where being a werewolf didn't provide an advantage. 

Carlos Sainz was one of the few drivers that wasn't a werewolf. He was perfectly content driving alongside the supernatural. His teammate was a werewolf, and that was fine by him. 

But then Carlos broke his leg. 

He fell off his bike, a bad enough fall to break his leg. His spirits were up as he laid in hospital, optimistic he could make it back before summer break ends. 

He wasn't the only optimistic one. 

The thing was that most people didn't realise Carlos was only human. He looked too pretty to just be a simple human. 

“It'll heal quick, right?” One member of the team asked. She was new, she didn't realise that he was human. 

Charles gave her a sympathetic smile. “He's going to be out of action for a little while,” he said and patted her shoulder. Her face was bright red and Charles turned away from her, giving her a break from his attention. 

“Who is going to replace him?” He asked. It was probably Ollie, a young driver, a sweet little pup in most of their eyes. He was talented, deserved to be on the grid with them in a year's time. 

Fred sucked in a breath and looked around the garage. Okay, not Ollie, Charles concluded. If it was Ollie, Fred wouldn't look so terrified. Sweat wouldn't be beading on his forehead like this if Ollie was driving in Carlos's place. 

“We're calling on The Beast.”

Taglist: @nurse-floyd @biancathecool

[reignpage]

Basketball captain!Toji

2nd April: the virtue of training

warning: 18+ mdni, masturbation, teasing, grinding, edging, drawn out foreplay

basketball captain!toji has been really busy the past two weeks and it’s driving you wild. you’ve barely seen him, playoffs are coming up and his team’s busy training, running themselves ragged to prepare for the brutality of the season. you miss your boyfriend — he wakes up early and goes to sleep late, he’s in the gym once classes finish, and when he is taking a break, he doesn’t have the time to hang out with you, opting instead to watch recordings of previous games. 

you’ve only seen glimpses of your stupid boyfriend, and whilst you’re proud of him for being such a dedicated athlete and setting a good example for his team, you also hate him because no toji means no orgasms.

basketball captain!toji trained his girlfriend well. now you can only cum with his fingers, mouth or cock. he’s ruined you for anyone else, even your own fingers, not even your trusty vibrator is doing it for you. without him fucking you to sleep, you twist and turn, kicking your covers off and pulling at your hair cursing your stupid boyfriend. 

it’s a saturday, and you know he’s not training for the evening, a rare break for the team. so you let yourself in the apartment he shares with sukuna, knowing the pink-haired man’s out with gojo and geto. basketball captain!toji’s stare is fixed on the tv, eyes darting across the screen like a hawk, searching for flaws, for missteps to shout at his teammates for. 

the man never rests.

when you say hi, he barely grunts, and that makes you frown. 

basketball captain!toji has been torturing you with his absence and he doesn’t seem to be feeling the same, and despite your love for him, that hurts. so you decide to get him back for it. with a sly grin, you slide up beside him on the sofa, hand rubbing at his back. he’s still tense but he does soften ever so slightly.

it’s innocent at first, but then you’re pressing your tits to his bicep, revelling in the sudden flex of the muscles in his huge arm. basketball captain!toji throws a glance at you but ultimately chooses to ignore your obvious scheme. 

you amp it up, your other hand grips his thigh as you lean your head against his shoulder, pretending to watch the game but that hand is inching up his meaty thigh squeezing here and there until your fingers worm its way under his shorts. he’s so warm and you miss the feeling of his body pressed against yours. you sigh in his ears. 

basketball captain!toji is still ignoring you but he’s aware of every movement you make. he knows he’s been neglecting you and part of him feels bad, but the other part, the dominant part, has been waiting for you to crack. neither of you had cum in two weeks and he knew starting out that when you do admit defeat the sex was gonna be mind-numbing. he’s just been biding his time, clutching the base of his throbbing cock at night —when the need for your body, for your smile and moans overcame him — to stop himself from cumming. 

basketball captain!toji is saving his load for your pussy, so be sure to say thank you when he finally fucks you.

when your finger tips reach his inner thigh you gasp. he’s not wearing boxers. the fucking tease. you whine in his ears, nails digging into his skin, and his lip twitches. you remove your hand from his shorts and palm him over the thin material, he’s already so hard you don’t know why he’s still playing this game. 

your panties are soaked and your thighs are pressed together so painfully you think you might just combust. his big hand encloses your wrist and presses your palm harder against his bulge, rubbing the length with a grunt, and you think he’s going to cave, force your head to his crotch and tell you to suck. 

but instead basketball captain!toji is pushing you away and tells you off for distracting him. he gives you a pointed glare and says one word that makes your jaw drop in shock at his audacity. 

“behave.”

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

Idk I don't really think I need to specify but assuming I'm right it's like this;

Sympathetic - you can sympathize with the decision. Maybe you once made that decision yourself, and are familiar with the consequences. You might not support it, but you have a personal understanding of why someone would do it.

Example: the character is put under a lot of pressure and says something they don't really mean - you don't like it, but you're familiar

Understandable - you can understand why the decision was made. Colloquially it tends to mean you find the choice agreeable, but generally you at least understand the logic behind it and believe the character would and SHOULD have acted in that way, in that situation, based on the character itself.

Example: it's understandable that Zuko (from Avatar: The Last Airbender) would agree with hunting Aang down, as the way he was brought up guaranteed he would focus his trauma in a direction that can "fix" his relationship with his father

Reasonable - the decision has a reasoning behind it that you believe to be sound, one way or the other. Like with the previous words, there's a degree of nuance, as "reasonable" tends to mean you agree with it, but it could just as well mean that the characters internal reasons for doing it are consistent with the story and considered a normal response in-universe

Example: it's normal for a Hunter (from Bloodborne) to kill Beasts - that's what the order was made for - but any regular person would likely struggle to do so when they learn the Beasts are just transformed people. Thus, it's reasonable for a Hunter to Hunt, just like it's reasonable for the regular Yharnamites to hide in their houses and not open the door, no matter what

Objectively the best solution - feelings are irrelevant in this one. It is what it says on the package; we might not like it, the characters might not like it, but at the time it was by far the best solution - not necessarily a good one, but the best one available.

Example: in the Shadow of the Erdtree DLC for Elden Ring, the main antagonist is revealed to be Miquella, a character who we don't meet in the main game but who is famous for his intellect, eternal youth (in body and mind) and his extreme charisma, coupled with his Charm, which he's had from birth. Being a kind-hearted child, he always looked for ways to make everyone, and I mean everyone, get along. To help everyone. To do the right thing. In the DLC, he realizes all his efforts thus far were useless, and so turns to a measure generally considered extreme and vile, but to this literal child it only makes sense - if he can become a god, he can use his charm to make everyone get along - by brainwashing the whole world. For some of the characters, it's only practical; if everyone gets along, even if by such means, everyone gets to be happy. No more wars. No more starvation, no more oppression, no more pain and suffering. Miquella promises a thousand year voyage guided by compassion; he can actually deliver on that promise. Alas, the story demands you kill him, and while it does chafe my own morality, I think it would have been interesting if we could join him... Oh well. You can always just get hit by the grab attack twice. That sort of counts, right? Though it only results in a modified "You Died" screen.... Anyway! For the goal of "world peace" it is, by far, indeed the best possible solution ever thought up. People would literally be UNABLE to not get along nicely. It would be an unprecedented age of peace, harmony and love. But it's a solution that, ironically, ignores the most important part to all this: the heart. Forcing people to get along, no matter how much they'll eventually accept it, is wrong and, at its core, false. There is no such thing as a perfect happy ending.

One thing i've run up against when dealing with fandom and characters making less than ideal choices is that people seem to treat a character's decision being sympathetic, the decision being understandable, the decision being reasonable, and it being objectively the best solution for the situation, as synonymous. When those are 4 very different things.

[karaeilishh]

DADDY?

SUMMARY: Your girlfriend is coming home after a music tour and she's mad. Maybe if you get down on your knees and be a good girl, she'll feel better?   

pairing: billie eilish x !fem reader 

WARNINGS: smut, !daddy dom billie, !sub reader, strap (r receiving), oral (r/billie receiving), daddy kink, pet names (princess, daddys girl, angel ect), orgasm control, begging, shes going crazy 

wc: 2.6k 

a/n: ik you saw it before but don’t mind. still apologize for the mistakes in the text, english is not my first language, enjoyyy 

music: angel – massive attack 

You were all alone at home, standing in front of the mirror completely naked. You loved looking at your body after a shower. Droplets of water flowed beautifully over your soft skin, your hair lay on your shoulders, your collarbones bulged slightly. Your body was very beautiful. And it wasn't just you who thought so. That's what the one for whom you spent an hour in the bathroom taking care of your body thought. The one for whom you are currently looking for the most beautiful set of underwear in your closet. A red lace one that barely covered your body’s private parts. Billie adored it. It was his absolute favorite. Just like you. In addition to your underwear, you put on a satin black dressing gown. It was short. It was driving Billy crazy.   

As for Billie, she was on her music tour for a few weeks, and you were so proud of her that you just couldn't help but give her a treat after a good job. You both knew who her treat was. You were ready to give yourself to her completely. Do whatever she wants, like you usually do. Like a good girl. You know she misses your perfect body like crazy. It's driving her crazy. Every time she comes home after a tour, she takes you as greedily and dirty as she can. And you will both enjoy this hunger for each other. Every week spent apart felt like sweet torture. Like thoughts of each other's warmth.   

You tried not to think about the morning photo she sent you anymore. It was just her hands with the caption “You can't even imagine what pleasure these hands will give you tonight.” It made you weak at the knees, the needy girl you've always been with Billy. You expected her to just come home hungry and playful, as she always was, but...   

When your phone started ringing, you smiled. You knew who the call was from. “Hi, my love” Your voice was soft, but playful at the same time. “Are you feeling well?” The voice on the other end of the phone was cold and harsh. You heard the noise of her car. She was on her way home.  

“Yes, I'm fine, and you?” You felt a little uneasy when your beloved wasn't as soft as usual. Your voice was quieter, and Billie noticed it, but she didn't care right now. “I'll be home in 20 minutes. Angel, i'm in a terrible mood, so you won't get off with one orgasm. Put on my favorite and no makeup” Her words hit down your stomach, making you sigh softly. She returns from the tour angry for the first time. 

“No makeup? Why?” You sounded quieter than usual, but now not out of concern, but out of desire. “Because your face will be buried in the mattress while I fuck you. And I promise that you will cry with pleasure.” She was growling into the phone, imagining this beautiful picture. You were ready to whine. Billie could always say something that would just fold you in half. “Good...” You mumbled softly as you hung up the phone. The knot in your stomach has already started to tighten. You just had to wait for your girlfriend to arrive as soon as possible.    

To somehow brighten up the wait, you closed the curtains in your bedroom and turned on the pale red backlight. You applied her favorite perfume to your body and fixed your hair for the last time. And no makeup. You took off your dressing gown when you heard the front door open. She came.  

You went downstairs quickly to see your girlfriend. She looked wild, tired, and very sexy. Her hair was slightly disheveled. She wore a “Misfits” shirt and black wide-leg jeans with her favorite belt. You just knew what was underneath them.   

“Hi babe.” You walked up to Billie, swinging your hips, your arms wrapped around her neck as her hands gripped your waist. “You know how to please me. Good girl,” Billie changed your position, pressing you against a cold wall, you sighed. You were literally purring, pressing your body against hers. You felt the bulge against her pants and rubbed against it. Desire was written on Billie's face. “Bedroom. Now,” Those words were enough for you to take her by the hand and take her to the second floor. Billie was pleasantly surprised when she saw what your bedroom looked like. She loved it when you were preparing for her arrival.  

“I can't take it anymore if you rock your ass like that.” She hugged you to her, putting her hands on your ass, squeezing it. You giggled softly. “I don't want you to be patient. You can take whatever you want.” Your girlfriend was clearly pleased with your answer. “Sit on the bed, let me do something.” Billie was a little worried when you told her to do it, but she obediently sat on the edge of the bed, looking at you.  

“That's it...” You smiled as you approached Billie. You knelt between her legs, resting your head on her hip. “Look at me” You whispered as your hands reached for her belt. You bit your lip, slowly getting rid of it. The way Billie trembled under your touch made you wet. You ran your lips over the fabric of her jeans, finding the fly of her jeans. You undid it with your teeth, without taking your eyes off Billy's eyes. She was going crazy. Her hands were crumpling the sheets, and her eyes were running from your mouth to your eyes. You saw her despair. 

“Such a dirty girl...” She whispered, running her hand through your hair. “For you, daddy.” That name made her eyes roll back in her head. You felt proud. You pulled her jeans down to her ankles, then her panties, exposing yourself to a big red dick. This strap was your favorite. “Fuck...” You said it in unison when you both felt wild desire. You wanted to touch it with your tongue, but Billy had other plans. “You're driving me crazy, babygirl.” She picked you up, roughly throwing you on the bed. Her body hovered over yours as she devoured you with her eyes. You looked so small underneath.  

“Fuck, I'm going to beat the shit out of you,” Billie growled, sinking down to your neck. She ran the tip of her nose over your delicate skin, grinning. “You've prepared for me. How sweet...” But that was the end of the sweet stuff. You let out a loud sigh as her teeth sank into your skin. She sucked it hard until she left a few hickeys. “I've missed making you mine time after time.” She smiled against your skin, kissing her way down. “Billie, fuck...” She stopped abruptly, looking into your eyes. “Wrong”  

“Daddy...” You moaned softly as her fingers began to rub your clit through the lace fabric. “Good girl” She smiled, returning to your body. Billie pushed back the fabric of your bra, paying attention to your breasts. You bit your lower lip. Your breasts were too sensitive, and Billie was too hungry, devouring it. She bit and licked, making you growl.   

“Fuck...” You looked down when she ran her tongue over the space between your breasts. It was so sexy that you started to choke. Billie liked it. She always enjoyed the moments when she made you feel so desperate. Just for her.   

“Baby, do you need more?” This question sounded more like a mockery, but you wanted more so badly that you didn't care. “I need more, daddy, please...” You moaned softly, putting your hand on her head. You didn't know exactly what you wanted, but you did. “Mouth or fingers?” She asked it without any embarrassment, as if it was the most common question. You wanted to answer “Both”, but you want to get everything separately. “Mouth” You answer quickly, hiding your face in your hands. Billie smiles. “Such a daddy’s princess” Those words made you gasp. 

“Please, I can't wait any longer...” Billie grinned as she went down. She pulled off your panties with her teeth, throwing them aside. Revenge. Her breath scorched your heat as she spread your legs wide. “Beg” She was serious about getting all the juice out of you tonight.  

“Please, daddy, I've needed you so much all this time, it's just...” You don't have time to finish when her tongue slaps against your clit. It was very harsh and you moaned loudly. Your hands immediately flew to her head, pressing her closer to your wet pussy. You missed her tongue so much, it was an inhuman desire. “Yes, right there...” Your eyes fluttered after every movement of her tongue. Your back arched when it was inside you. Billie hadn't pushed her tongue inside you for a long time and these sensations were wild. Her eyes were wild as she looked at your heaving chest.  

“Mhm...” She moaned sweetly against your pussy, sending shockwaves through your body. You bit your lip, breaking into a smile. Her hand reached up, grabbing your neck. Her touch was so gentle and rough at the same time, it turned you on even more. You wanted her. Completely for yourself. And you were elated every time you realized that this was the case.  

“I'm gonna...” You moaned. The knot in your stomach tightened too much, you couldn't take it anymore. Billie looked at you again. You saw her eyes roll back in pleasure. You tasted divine. Billie patted your thigh, silently letting you cum. The words “Cum on my tongue, sweet girl” rang in your head. Just the thought of her sexy voice instantly brought you to orgasm. You've seen the stars. “Good girl...”Now her voice was real.  

"I missed you so much...” you whispered when she got up to kiss you. You moaned into her mouth when you tasted yourself. Delicious. She ran her tongue over your lips, forcing you to close your eyes. Her every touch did inexplicable things to you. But you loved it. “I know, angel.”  

You kissed for another minute until you felt her fingers teasing your pussy. “Daddy...” You were whispering into her neck. “Do I have to stretch you, or are you ready to take my dick?” Those words sounded so dirty coming out of her mouth that you were just suffocating. “I'm ready.” You were always ready. 

“Daddy's girl” She smiled, looking at your body, hungry for you. Billie's “Roll over on your stomach” sounded rude and you knew what she wanted. You obediently lay down on your stomach. Your ass was in the air, your hands were above your head. “You don't know what you're doing to me.” She slapped your thigh, enjoying the way you squirmed under her. She knew how much you liked it.  

 “Slutty girl” Your pussy clenched at her words. Billie brought the tip of the strap to your hole, teasing you. “Tell me how much you missed daddy's dick.” Her hand went down your back, leaving goosebumps on your body. You squirmed, looking for friction, but Billy's hands stopped you. “Use your words, angel.” 

“Daddy, I felt so empty without you... My fingers weren't enough.” You knew what your words would do to her. You didn't see her face, but you felt her inside you. It was rude. “Fuck!” You bit your hand when her dick was completely inside you. Her hips beat against yours as she rocked into you at an animal speed. “Slow down...”  

“Oh, shut up.” She was growling, pressing your head against the mattress. Your hair became a mess and there were tears of pleasure in your eyes when your girlfriend fucked you so well. So fast and rude. And even if you asked her to be slower, you didn't want that. Billy's hand grabbed your thigh, creating additional roughness. Your eyes were blurred because of the tears. And your throat is dry. Your neighbors won't thank you for those beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth.  

“You look so beautiful, taking every daddy’s inch” Her voice was trembling with wild excitement. She fucked you so hard and couldn't get enough of you. It was a problem because you wanted to cum again. “Can I-” A rough push cut off your words.  

“No. I'm not fucking going to stop fucking you until i get enough.” Her voice was loud and broken. She never sounded like that. You were whining, but you were holding back your growing orgasm. “I'm sorry, baby.” Billie pulled out her dick, leaving you empty and desperate. “No!” You looked at her. Tears were flowing beautifully down your face when you rolled over on your back.  

“On your knees,” Billie said it sharply and you obeyed, ignoring the weakness in your body. She sat on the edge of the bed, and you knelt between her legs. “You know what you have to do.” You looked into her eyes, full of despair and desire. “Yes...” You took the tip of the strap in your mouth, feeling your taste again. It made you moan. Your movements were slow and gentle when half of her dick was in your mouth. Billie put her hand on the back of your head, roughly pushing it further into you. You grabbed her hips, trying to control the thrusts, but soon the tip of her strap was hitting the back of your throat. Billie was wild, and you didn't know what was going on with her. You could taste your tears in your mouth. Her other hand rested on your cheek, wiping away your tears. It was sexy. 

“Do it better.” She was growling, thrusting her hips into you. All your reflexes had already failed when you took her dick. Her body was starting to shake, and the thrutst were becoming more and more careless. It only took a few seconds for her to moan loudly and lie down on her back. “Damn.” You licked your lips, still trying to move away from what had just happened. Billie lay in silence for a while, but suddenly got up. “Ride me, baby”  

Your eyes lit up with desire when you were on top of her. Your pussy was on her hot thigh, moving slowly. She looked up at you, grabbing your ass “Ride daddy's dick like a good girl” You didn't need to be persuaded. You wanted to cum so badly that you just couldn't wait a second longer. You needed her strap inside you. Billie controlled your movements, allowing only the tip to be inserted inside you. “I need more, i beg you...” You looked into her eyes, seeking approval. And you got it when her hands abruptly lowered you. Her strap was all inside you. Every damn inch. “Move yourself, my angel” 

You started moving your hips, going up and down. The bedroom was filled with your moans and dirty noises between your bodies. Billie greedily kissed you when her thumb landed on your clit. This stimulation was too much for you. “Please, daddy, can i?” You whispered a question in her ear. Your hands rested on her shoulders.  

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” Billie smiled, helping you by pushing with her hips. A strong orgasm went through your body when you collapsed on the body of your beloved. You tried to catch your breath for another minute. “It was crazy” You whispered.  

“I know. And we both love it.” Billie kissed you on the cheek, brushing the sticky hair off your face. Your face was a mess. “Now let's take a shower, my love.” 

requests open <33

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I'm not saying yandere Dick Grayson would baby trap his darling...but he most definitely would

Warnings: toxic and abusive themes. forced domesticated life, mentions of baby trapping, purposeful weight gain, manipulation, dick is a good hubby though, he's just so desprate

Please just hear me out on this concept. Now i've said before that Dick Grayson would've realistically had to put a halt on his personal life and relationships because alongside being nightwing and keeping his family together, it'd just be too much.

Could you imagine Yandere! Dick is like hitting his mid-thirties at this point, work is growing old and all of his siblings are just about adults and he's exhausted. One day, the siblings are all just chilling around the mansion and the topic of what they plan to do with their life after being a vigilante comes up. Dick hadn't though about it ever because well...this consumed every minute of his life but he figured he'd probably settle down and start a family. Jokingly one of his siblings said, "How could you ever find time for another family when you're already the matriarch of this one?", and it just hasn't left his mind since.

Fast forward and he's sitting in a dinner alone after patrol and he's just watching this family and their kids and it just hits him that he'll never have that at the rate he's going. If he doesn't end up dead from his work, he'd probably end up rotting in that mansion alone because he's too busy fixing the messes Bruce made with the others. He's been a "father" to his siblings since his teen years and he has not much to show for it. I mean he's proud of all of them but...he's still just their older brother...

He goes home and is thinking about just how happy that father looked while throwing his kids up in the air...or how beautiful his wife looked carrying their unborn child. He envied how simple and perfect their life was. They didn't have to miss out on life to fight crime around the clock or to piece back together something he never broke. They could happily go home..with each other and be proud of what they've made. He's looking back at his life and while he knows he's accomplished so much but being an actual dad is something he'll never get a chance to be. Not while he's still playing as the head of Bruce's household.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who now wants to be a father so badly and to come home to a pretty wife who truly loved him. Not just some one nighter who couldn't see past his body.

He met you by chance a few weeks later. It was while he was grabbing food before his nightly patrol, and the spark was like never before. It was fate. or delusion You were destined to be his pretty wife and be his ticket out of that mess. You're so perfect

Dick is maybe a little too eager to make his desires a reality. Like he's completely ready to let go of his previous familial duties to make way for his new ones. It's a huge shift but it's a necessary one. This is his Fiona Gallagher moment. He's steadily loosening the grip and ignoring calls to be fully focused on you. Dick wants to prove he'll be a great husband who won't neglect you for anyone else even if they're as close as family. He can't let them get in the way anymore.

He doesn't care if he has to manipulate his way into your heart, he's going to have you. He's the only one that'd ever be as good to you as he will be. There's not even a money limit on how much he's willing to pour into this process. If it takes paying your rent or car note to prove he's provider material...then so be it. Anything for the future mother of his children.

!Yandere Dick Grayson who doesn't even know if you want kids or marriage but he's so far gone in his own fantasies that he just assumes you have the same goals as he...even if you don't...you soon will..I like to think he slowly shifts you into being a stay at home girlfriends and floods your mind with ideas of this being your purpose. He needs you to know just how great you are at being domestic...this isn't so bad right? You could do this for the rest of your life!

Like i said he doesn't mind throwing money at you if it'll make you desire this life with him. Besides, he prefers you to be financially dependent on him. You are so shy when you ask him for things but he loves knowing that you need him, just like a good wife does.

First he's just always wanting you over his house for cute dates, then it's becoming a weekender situation...then a few days out of the week and now you practically live with him.

In the meantime he's doing subtle things like cooking dinner and breakfast with you at the same times every day. This is so you'll automatically start doing this on your own and so you know what he likes and at what time. He's got you doing shopping runs for the home. He's a sneaky little shit who asks you to throw in his laundry and clean up his messes while he's at work. He of course compensates you for being such a great helper. Your new job is here at his home. It fills him up with so much joy when he comes home and all your tasks are completed.

Yandere! Dick who is always surprising you with foods and snacks you cannot resist to make you plumper for when you're carrying his baby. Of course he's denying the allegations when you jokingly tease him about making you fat on purpose but we know the truth. Still, he's loving your body regardless, it needs to be healthy with extra fats to keep your children protected. He can barely contain himself though when he sees your little stomach pudge , it gets him all too excited for the real deal. It makes him feel all the less guilty about tampering with the contraceptives when he thinks about how gorgeous you'll be when you're swollen with his baby. I mean you're already this cute with a little bloat.

Oh just the thought of you walking around in public and everyone who sees you know that you're already claimed..ugh He doesn't know what to do with himself. You're all his and no one can steal you away from him. Not when you don't have any time. You're too busy taking care of the home and the baby to be bothered by anything else.

You won't be too mad at him, right? I mean just so desperate to have a quiet new life. He wants to be a father so bad, please let him have this. He'll be so so good for you and the baby.....he needs this.

[eu-nicola]

the finish line

sinopsis: you are the girlfriend of Lando Norris, Max Verstappen's rival with whom the tension between the two is undeniable, both begin a romance secretly, full of passion and remorse, knowing that any mistake could ruin everything.

warnings: love triangle, forbidden relationship, tension, infidelity

word counter: 5687

author's note: english is not my first language

The roar of the engines filled the air with an electric energy. The sky above the circuit was clear, cloudless, as if nature itself had decided that the competition would be without interference. The stands were shaking with excitement, and you were there, in the VIP area, your heart beating faster than usual. You saw Lando’s car on the starting grid, and despite having seen him compete so many times, each race gave you the same adrenaline. You loved Lando and supported his career without reservation, feeling a sincere pride every time he put on his helmet and immersed himself in his element, as if his whole life was leading up to that moment.

However, as you watched the drivers take their positions, your eyes were not fixed only on Lando’s car. Among the rows of single-seaters, one stood out in a way that made your heart waver, even though you did not want to admit it. Max Verstappen’s car. There was something about his presence that was imposing. Max moved with the confidence and precision of someone who had been born for this place, as if the asphalt was his home and the engines were his heartbeat.

Max and Lando were rivals. Their competition went far beyond the track, it was a battle of talents and personalities that pushed them to their limits. But, secretly, you had always felt a fascination towards Max that was difficult to ignore. Before meeting Lando, before feeling his hand take yours in those early days full of laughter and adventure, you had followed Max as a silent admirer, watching his rise in Formula 1 from a distance, mesmerized by his almost supernatural skill behind the wheel.

Your admiration had begun years ago, when you were still an anonymous spectator and Formula 1 was just a hobby. There was something special about the way Max approached races, a kind of intensity that separated him from the others. You remembered perfectly the first time you saw him win: that mix of strength and precision, an almost brutal will that made him get what he wanted. He was a predator on the track, and you, without being able to explain it to yourself, had become trapped in his world.

Since then, you had grown accustomed to watching him race, to secretly getting excited every time he crossed the finish line in first place. You had never told anyone about that part of you, least of all Lando. You loved your boyfriend and you loved watching him win, watching yourself celebrating beside him. However, you couldn't help a spark of excitement every time Max put his hands on the wheel and prepared for a race.

Today was one of those days when the two of you would face each other again, and the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. In the distance, you caught a glimpse of Max, preparing himself alongside his team. You forced yourself to look away, turning your attention back to Lando. You didn't want that secret admiration to show in your eyes. You knew Lando was aware of the competition with Max, and he probably wouldn't like to know that his girlfriend had an almost devout respect for his biggest rival.

The race began, and you held your breath. Every lap was a rollercoaster of emotions. Lando was going well, fighting to maintain his position while Max pushed for the lead. It was an impressive battle, a dangerous dance between two drivers who knew that any mistake could cost them dearly. Lando had the advantage, but Max was getting closer, closing the gap at every turn, as if he could read his rival's mind and anticipate his moves.

On the last lap, you almost stopped breathing. The two were neck and neck, and for a moment you found yourself wishing that Max could catch up, that he could prove once again why he was considered one of the best. Excitement washed over you, and at the same time, you felt a pang of guilt. You wanted Lando to win, of course, but there was something about the fight, about the possibility that Max could snatch the top spot from him, that made you hold your breath.

The deafening roar of the engines enveloped you as they crossed the finish line. Max had won. You stayed silent, knowing Lando wouldn't be happy with the outcome, but deep inside you, a part of you felt inexplicably satisfied.

The victory celebration filled the air, but in Lando's box, the atmosphere was completely different. Frustration was palpable in each of his movements, and you watched him from a corner, trying to gauge whether your support would be well received at that moment.

"It was crazy, wasn't it?" you commented with a smile, trying to ease the tension when he approached.

Lando barely responded, pressing his lips together and muttering something you couldn't understand. He used to be competitive, but at times like this, when the defeat came from Max, the comments that came out of his mouth surprised you a little.

"That guy..." he began to say, and you could hear the resentment in his voice. "He always plays on the edge, as if no one else mattered on the track. It's like he's racing alone, and the rest of us are just there for show."

You tried to smile to lighten the mood, but deep down it hurt you a little to hear him talk like that. You wanted to be Lando’s unconditional support, but deep down you couldn’t help but feel that there was something admirable about Max’s confidence and boldness that so exasperated his boyfriend.

“It’s true that it’s risky,” you conceded softly, without trying to justify anything. “But maybe that’s one of the reasons why he’s so fast.”

Lando looked at you, surprised, although clearly annoyed, and you couldn’t help but feel that he had picked up on something in your tone. You looked away before he could read too much into your expression.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be out there, competing at that level, risking your life at every turn,” he said in a harsher tone than usual. Lando rarely acted like that with you, and you knew it was frustration speaking.

You decided it was best to give him a moment’s space. You approached the edge of the track area, watching the celebrations from a distance, trying not to let Lando’s comments affect your own perspective. You knew he was angry and that his words were born from the helplessness of the moment.

Max had had an impeccable race, he had taken risks at every turn and had shown, once again, why he was the best on the track. The competitive fire that sometimes made him impulsive was also what made his talent shine the way it did.

Suddenly, you noticed that Lando had approached, still frowning, but his eyes showed a silent apology. He was aware of what you felt and, although he hadn't said anything to you, you knew that he had understood that Max, on some level, was also someone you admired.

"I'm sorry about what I said before," he finally said, with a sigh. "It's just that it's hard for me. It's not his talent, it's..." Lando paused, and looked at the track with a mixture of resentment and resignation. "It's just luck."

You looked at him with a slight smile and took his hand, trying to offer him the security he needed at that moment. Lando needed someone to support him, and you were there for that.

“It’s just one more race,” you said, squeezing his hand. “And there will be many more where you’ll be the one celebrating.”

Lando smiled back at you, albeit with a hint of sadness, and you noticed that, at least for now, he was willing to put the tensions aside.

That same night, the atmosphere at the hotel where the drivers and their teams were staying was a mix of celebration and relaxation after the stress of the race. The after-party was a tradition in Las Vegas. You knew Lando wasn’t completely thrilled with the idea, considering how the race had ended.

The two of you returned to the hotel after the awards ceremony, and went up to your room in silence. He gave you a kiss on the cheek before entering the bathroom, and you took the opportunity to start getting ready.

Opening your suitcase, you looked for the dress you had chosen for the night: an elegant design, in a deep red tone. You put it on carefully, letting the soft material slide over your body. In front of the mirror, you began fixing your hair, opting for a loose yet sophisticated style, striking enough for the occasion without being over the top.

From across the room, you heard Lando exit the bathroom. You turned to look at him, finding him dressed in a dark blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, with the sleeves slightly rolled up, and dark pants. It was the kind of style he liked, relaxed but carefully put together, with a touch that kept his air youthful. He looked good, as always, but this time there was something about his posture, a tension that hadn’t quite faded yet.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling slightly as he watched you.

“Almost,” you said, putting the finishing touches on your makeup and adding long earrings that hung elegantly from your ears. “You’re ready too, right?”

He nodded, approaching you with a leisurely pace and standing behind you in front of the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist. You could see his eyes in the reflection, watching you, and for a moment at least, he seemed to relax.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. Even though the tension from the race was still there, his words managed to bring a smile to your face.

“Thank you, love. And you look… like always,” he replied, joking softly, and you both laughed.

The walk to the party was quiet, and as they arrived, music began to play from the hotel lobby. The party was in full swing, and as soon as they entered, the festive atmosphere enveloped them: colorful lights, the pulsating music, and the murmur of voices from the drivers, mechanics, and other guests filled the place. Champagne glasses were circulating around the room, and some of the drivers were already in the center, laughing and joking as they exchanged anecdotes from the race.

Lando took you by the hand as they walked together toward the group of his friends and teammates, who greeted them with a cheer and friendly banter. He laughed and let himself go, and although it was still clear that the day had been a difficult one for him, it seemed like the company helped him relax.

But then, unintentionally, your eyes drifted to a corner of the room, where Max was talking to some of his team members, a drink in his hand and a relaxed smile on his face. He was wearing a simple but well-fitting black shirt, his hair disheveled after an action-packed day. Watching him laugh, you noticed something you had rarely seen: an almost carefree warmth, a version of him that only emerged when he was away from the pressure of the race.

You tried to look away, but your curiosity was stronger, and your eyes found him again from time to time, as if a part of you couldn't help it. Every so often, he seemed to catch your gaze, giving you a slight smile before returning to his conversation.

Lando, oblivious to the tension, continued chatting with his companions, and you tried to focus on the moment, ignoring the persistent feeling that someone else was watching you from the other side of the room. The music and laughter continued, the noise creating a kind of bubble in which you could hide, but even so, you felt trapped in that mix of emotions.

Suddenly, Max said goodbye to those around him and began to walk towards the center of the room, passing close to you. His gaze passed over the group and stopped on you. It was a fleeting moment, but enough for the heat to rise to your cheeks.

You tried to hide it, focusing on the conversation Lando was having, although your mind wandered between the pride of being by his side and the unexpected fascination that Max managed to awaken in you every time you saw him.

The night progressed, and little by little, both you and Lando were integrated into the party separately. He joined his friends, and soon you found yourself sharing laughs with some of your friends. You sipped from your glass, letting yourself be carried away by the warmth of the alcohol, which was starting to make the music louder, the lights brighter, and the atmosphere more welcoming.

Yet, throughout the night, you couldn't help it: every now and then your eyes would wander away, searching for that familiar, dangerous look you'd caught earlier. Max wasn't that far away, and on several occasions his blue eyes met yours, each exchange of glances a little longer than the last.

He did nothing but look at you, but every time he did, a smile would appear on his lips. It was an almost mocking gesture, as if he was aware of the tension he was creating and was having fun with it. The intensity of his gaze seemed to go beyond simple curiosity, and you felt your cheeks heat up with each fleeting encounter. However, you tried to hide it, devoting yourself to your friends, to the laughter and the anecdotes of the night.

Until, at some point, you realized that Max was no longer in the room. You looked around, wanting to find out if he had wandered off or was simply in another conversation, but his figure was nowhere to be seen among the lights or the laughter of the scattered groups. You felt a slight pang of disappointment, though you didn't want to give it too much importance. Plus, you had Lando at this very party; the only one you should really care about was here, having fun with his friends.

So, determined to ignore the slight discouragement, you had another drink, joining in the vibrant energy of the party, allowing yourself to release the pent-up emotions of the week. But the alcohol was taking its toll, and after a while, you felt the need to freshen up and, above all, find the bathroom. You said goodbye to your friends momentarily and began walking towards the hallway that led to the bathrooms, moving away from the music and the bustle.

The hallway was dimly lit, with an air of calm that contrasted with the festive chaos of the main room. As you moved forward, you felt the atmosphere grow quieter, the echoes of the music just a distant murmur. You turned the corner towards the bathroom, only to stop dead when you suddenly saw him.

Max was there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on you. At first, you thought it was a coincidence, that he was simply waiting for someone or taking a breather. But when his lips curved into a slow, almost mischievous smile, you knew he was there for you.

“Lost?” he asked, his voice deep and heavy with irony, but also with something else, something that made your chest turn.

“No… I was just looking for the bathroom,” you answered, trying to keep your composure, although you felt the air had become a little thicker, more charged between the two of you.

He nodded, that relaxed, confident expression that never seemed to leave him, and took a step towards you, closing the distance in a way that made you feel a rush of nerves and excitement.

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asked softly, not taking his gaze away from yours. His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel like there was a deeper intention behind each word.

“Yeah…” you replied, swallowing hard, as you realized you were staring at his lips. You looked away quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. “It’s… fun.”

Max laughed, a low, warm sound that echoed through the hallway. He noticed your gaze as well, and instead of making any comment, he simply moved a little closer. You could feel the warmth of his presence, and the faint scent of his lotion mixed with the soft touch of alcohol that enveloped him. His closeness was intoxicating.

“You know?” “I’ve been watching you all night,” he said, with a frankness that took you by surprise. He didn’t bother to disguise the truth, and the impact of his words made your neck tingle. “I think you’ve been looking for me too.”

You tried to answer, but the words caught in your throat. Max was so close that you could notice every detail of his face, the tones in his eyes and the slight smile that lingered on his lips. You knew you should back off, that the situation was going too far, but there was something about him that drew you in, like a magnetic force impossible to ignore.

“Max…” you whispered, not sure what else to say. It was all a jumble of emotions: the confusion, the attraction, the guilt you felt in some corner of your mind for being here, in this moment with him.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” he said softly, but his tone was serious, beyond the amusement he had shown before. His gaze was intense, sincere, and you felt the world stop at that moment. It was as if he were giving you a choice, an open door to decide.

The silence between you was thick and heavy. Around you, the party continued, distant, an echo of laughter and music, but at this moment there was only him, and the decision you had to make.

The hallway was silent, almost as if the party had vanished and only the two of you remained, trapped in that suspended moment. His proximity made the air seem heavier, charged with something you could no longer ignore. You knew you should move away, that crossing that line could have consequences, but at that moment all rational thought was fading, consumed by the intensity of his presence and the intoxicating effect of the alcohol.

Max looked at you with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. You felt his gaze running over you as if he could read every doubt, every hidden thought you refused to admit. He didn't move, but he didn't back down either. It was as if he was waiting for you to decide, giving you all the control and, at the same time, all the weight of that choice.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you took a step towards him. It was barely a fraction of a distance, but it was enough to make you feel even closer. You noticed how his expression changed, his subtle smile turning into a satisfied smirk. Max raised a hand and gently slid it over your arm, his touch light, barely a brush that sent a shiver down the length of your spine.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper that echoed in the hallway.

Without saying anything else, he looked at you with that mix of confidence and sweetness that made your defenses crumble. With a dangerous calm, Max leaned towards you, until his lips barely touched yours. It was a brief contact, barely a brush, as if he was giving you one last chance to stop him. But you didn't.

Unable to resist any longer, you closed the small distance between you and kissed him, letting all the pent-up tension fade away in that instant. His hand moved up to your cheek, holding you firmly as the kiss deepened. His mouth was warm, safe, and you felt like the whole world was disappearing with each passing second, until there was nothing left but him.

Max gently pushed you against the wall, his hands moving down your arms, your sides, until they were on your waist, holding you with the same firmness he used to control his car on the track. He kissed you with an intensity that made you lose your breath, and you found yourself tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to you, letting yourself go without hesitation.

Everything about him drew you in an inescapable way. His scent, his restrained strength, his control, and the way he seemed to read your thoughts without you saying a word. You felt like time was slipping away, and at the same time, every second was eternal, every movement of his etching itself into your memory, into your skin.

When he pulled away for just a moment to look at you, his eyes shone with a mix of desire and a hint of satisfaction. He knew you had fallen, that you had crossed that line, and he didn't seem to regret it in the slightest. His lips were so close you could feel his breath, and before you could say a word, he smiled and kissed you again, even more intensely than before.

Every time his lips moved over yours, you lost yourself more in the sensation, in the danger and the attraction. Rationality, guilt, everything seemed far away, insignificant compared to the need to feel it, to let yourself go to that moment that you had secretly desired and that was now real, tangible, in his arms.

Without realizing it, your hands went down his chest, feeling the strength of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt, and he let out a soft moan that made you shudder. Max was a sea of ​​intensities and contrasts, and, having him so close, you knew there was no turning back.

After a last kiss full of desire, both of you separated, aware that you could not disappear for long without raising suspicions. Max looked at you with a satisfied and complicit expression. He ran his hand over your face, giving you a look that was both comforting and challenging, a silent promise that this did not end here. But now both of you had to go back.

With a brief smile and no further words, he stepped away, turning down the hall as if nothing had happened. You watched as he disappeared into the crowd, his figure melting back into the hustle and bustle of the party. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, to regain control of your emotions and erase any hint of what had just happened. You couldn't let anyone notice, much less Lando.

You walked back into the living room with measured steps, trying to relax, even though your heart was pounding. Your hands were shaking slightly, and you struggled to remember how to keep a neutral expression. The music, the lights, the laughter around you seemed to echo the intensity of your encounter with Max, and with each passing second you wondered if anyone suspected something, if it could be seen in your gaze, in the way you moved.

In the distance, you saw Lando laughing with some friends, completely oblivious to what had just happened in the hallway. When you met him, he gave you an effusive hug, and you tried to respond with the same naturalness, as if nothing had changed, as if your heart wasn't still beating with the memory of Max.

"Where have you been?" Lando asked you, without suspecting anything, looking at you with that familiarity that you had always felt. His smile was warm, an anchor that made you feel on the verge of guilt.

"Oh, I went to the bathroom, and then I saw the girls and we stayed talking for a while," you lied, forcing a smile as you tried to push away any thoughts of what had happened moments ago.

You nodded as Lando offered you another drink, and forced yourself to smile and laugh with him, even though your mind was elsewhere.

As Lando spoke to you, you nodded, trying to focus on each word.

In the distance, once again, you caught sight of Max's figure in the crowd. He looked at you again, this time with a much more subtle, discreet expression. No one else seemed to notice the silent exchange between the two of you, but you knew he was there, watching you, a constant reminder of what had happened and what could happen again.

As the party continued, you forced yourself to stay by Lando's side, sharing laughs and enjoying the night at his side. But deep down, a part of you had already changed.

When the night finally began to fade and tiredness weighed on you, you and Lando decided to head back to the hotel. You walked beside him, silently, enjoying the cool early morning air that tried to dissipate the heat and bustle of the party. Lando, exhausted but content, took your hand and smiled at you before looking out at the street, distracted and sleepy. You clung to that moment of peace with him.

It wasn't long before your phone vibrated in your bag. At first, you didn't pay much attention, thinking it would be one of your friends or just some unimportant notification. However, upon hearing the sound for the second and third time, your curiosity got the better of you and you surreptitiously pulled out your phone, taking advantage of the fact that Lando was busy checking something on his own phone.

The screen lit up with a name that made your heart skip a beat: Max Verstappen. Your pulse instantly quickened, and you glanced at Lando out of the corner of your eye, making sure he was still distracted. You tried to stay calm, but each new vibration of the phone seemed to intensify your nervousness.

"How did he get your number?" you wondered, incredulous. Maybe he had gotten it through some acquaintance, some mutual contact. But instead of worrying you, that initiative on his part made a shiver of excitement and fear run through you.

You read the first message quickly, your heart beating so hard it seemed to echo in the stillness of the early morning.

Max: “Do you regret what happened tonight?"

You kept your eyes on the screen, noticing the confident expression his words inspired in you, knowing he knew the answer well.

With your thumb shaking, you scrolled to the next message:

Max: "I hope not, because I don't plan on forgetting it that easily."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the mix of emotions that was overwhelming you. You knew it was a delicate situation, but the adrenaline you felt from those messages made it impossible for you to turn away from that conversation. Lando, oblivious to what was happening, smiled at you and put an arm around your shoulder, hugging you as you walked towards the hotel entrance. You tried hard to smile back, trying to erase any hint of nervousness.

However, as soon as you entered the elevator, your phone vibrated again. Max seemed to have no intention of waiting for a response, and the next message was even more direct:

Max: "If you decide to go out again, I'll be awake."

The short sentence caused your cheeks to heat up. You stared at the message for a few seconds, as the elevator rose and you struggled to keep a neutral expression. You didn’t want Lando to suspect anything, but it was impossible not to feel the urge to respond.

Finally, when they reached the door of the room and Lando dropped his things, exclaiming with an exhausted sigh, you took advantage of that moment to type a quick and short response, trying to control the emotion that was overwhelming you.

You: “I don’t plan on forgetting this night either.”

You put your phone on silent and joined Lando, trying to focus on him and the routine of the night.

Even though you had silenced the notifications, your mind kept going back to Max’s messages. You knew it would be best to ignore him and not let yourself get dragged further into what had already happened that night, but the temptation to check each of his messages was too strong. Lando slept soundly beside you, the exhaustion of the race and the party having overcome him in no time, while you tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep.

The early morning was advancing, and every second in the dimness of the room only made the urge to check your phone more pressing. Finally, unable to resist it any longer, you carefully reached out and took the phone. You unlocked it, and immediately, several new messages from Max lit up the screen.

The first message was direct, almost as if he were daring you to respond:

Max: "Still awake?"

Seeing that simple question, your heart raced again, and in that moment you knew he was waiting, attentive, too.

You scrolled down to the next message, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Max: "I can't stop thinking about you tonight."

The intensity of his words made the room seem even quieter, like the whole world had stopped and the only thing that existed was the conversation they were having. Your finger lowered once more, and the last message was the one that left you speechless:

Max: “If you ever get tired of what you have… you know where to find me.”

You read those words over and over again, trying to process the weight of what Max was implying.

Without realizing it, a slight tremor took over your hand as you held the phone. You didn’t know how to respond, or if you should. You knew you couldn’t erase what had happened, and the memory of his lips, his touch, his gaze, all of it still burned your skin. Part of you wanted to respond, to let go, to explore that desire you had held onto for so long.

The temptation was impossible to ignore, and before you knew it, your fingers began typing, guided by a mix of excitement and the urge to find out how far this conversation could take you.

You: “Max, you know this shouldn’t be happening.”

Almost immediately, the three dots appeared on the screen, signaling that Max was typing. Your heart was racing as you waited for his response, nervous and expectant at the same time.

Max: “Really? Because I think it should happen. I think we’ve been ignoring it for too long.”

His words were confident.

You: “It’s crazy, Max. You know that.”

Max: “I know that. But tell me, do you really want to stop here?”

You read his message over and over, considering his question. You knew what he was hoping to hear, and a part of you wanted to too, even though your mind kept telling you it was dangerous, that you shouldn’t go any further. But the rational part of you was growing weaker in the face of Max's intensity and the night they'd shared.

After a few seconds, you decided to answer, taking a little more risk.

You: "I don't know if I want to stop, Max… But I don't know what this means either."

Max's response came almost instantly, as if he'd been waiting for that opening.

Max: "It means whatever you want it to mean. I'm not going to pressure you, but I think we both feel something more. Don't tell me you don't feel the same spark."

The directness of his words disarmed you. You had tried to ignore it, rationalize it, even suppress it. But now that he'd said it out loud, that he'd given that spark a name, it was impossible to deny the reality. It wasn't just a one-night stand; it was something you'd felt for him since before you met Lando, a kind of fascination and attraction that now seemed to have a life of its own.

You: "This isn't easy. You know I'm with Lando."

Max: “I know. I’m not asking you to make a decision right now. I just want you to know that I’ll be here, if you ever decide that this is worth it.”

His words echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to allow yourself to explore what he had to offer. You knew it was a line that, once crossed, there was no turning back. And yet, every message from Max made the barrier between reason and desire crumble a little more.

You: “It’s harder than you imagine.”

Max: “Maybe. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that things that are truly worth it are rarely easy.”

You bit your lip, staring at his words and feeling a mix of intense emotions.

You: “So, what do we do now?”

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought maybe he wouldn’t respond. But then came his message, simple and direct.

Max: "For now, we're keeping this between us. There's no rush… But I'm not going to let this end here."

You fell silent, contemplating his words and feeling your heart race. You knew nothing would be the same after tonight.

[bloominginsanity]

My dad was able to explain fear and how to work through it so well that I apparently rationalized and created my own coping mechanisms for my OCD and didn't realize I actually had the disorder until I was 30.

No one can touch my room. I sound like a teenager saying this and in college I didn't actually care, but in my teenage years and when living in certain unsafe homes, I would have a goddamn break down if this was not listened to.

My life was high stress at one point, like HIGH STRESS. My brain redirected this to having utter and complete control of my room. One day, while I was at camp, my mom moved a stack of games from one shelf to another because she thought it would look nice. I came back, saw the change, and broke down sobbing, curled in a ball on my floor for twenty minutes. I had to move it back. I then moved it again to the same location later because she was right. It looked better that way. The problem was that I had to be the one to do it.

I knew it would change when I left home and I was right. I didn't care as much. The stress and the danger was gone from my life for the most part so the coping went away too. Fast forward to when I'm 30 and I move back into a high stress environment. My mom borrowed my sewing kit BY ACCIDENT. I was helping her with a craft project and apparently put it in the bag for her to take to work with her. She got back, unloaded it, and I found the kit. Out of order. It was a pretty raggedy thing in a ten-year-old plastic Ziploc with safety scissors and scraps of cloth. I had duct tape on the bag to cover the holes in it. But: The needles were out of order. The scissors were in the needle and stray-thread tin. There was a stray, white thread just floating around.

I stared. I hadn't had a breakdown in ten years. I told myself it was fine. I tapped my fingers on the table. Made a weird noise. Finally muffled a scream. Slammed my fist on the table to get the feeling of STRESS out. It didn't work. My brother asked what was wrong and I told him nothing because I KNEW it wasn't serious. I ended up in a ball on the floor trying not to sob as I told myself it didn't matter.

My mom apologized to me when she found me and I told her she didn't need to and that it wasn't her fault because I knew it wasn't. I was likely the one that had put it in there. I was still crying. It took me FIFTEEN minutes to be able to even look at it and fix it. I tried around ten minutes and I had to look away and stamp my feet to get the horrible feeling out and not cry. I was antsy for the next hour even after I fixed it. It doesn't even bother me to think about it now, four days later, but at the time I wanted to dig my nails into my own skin and make myself bleed just to distract myself from the feeling.

It was just a slightly messy sewing kit.

I never show signs otherwise. I check for my wallet, phone, and keys when I'm out several times but that's not all that odd. I've lost things before and am an expert at finding them. I guess I wash my hands a lot but I have dogs and I don't like getting sick. That's it.

My dad taught me that the repeating voice in my head that tells me everyone finds me annoying isn't real and that if you don't try that you'll never even know otherwise. He taught me how to identify what the fear looked like and what it was and how to call it a liar. Once I knew what to call it and what it was, I knew it was never who *I* was. It was normal to be scared and if other people could fight it then so could I.

[He taught me a lot actually. He taught me how to recognize social queues and what they meant. I got shouted at a lot as a child for not being able to react to them properly even if I saw them. Pretty sure the man is ND in some way and just found a super positive way to cope, which he passed down to me.]

I am still not normal, likely never will be, but I've been told so many times that no one would ever guess that I suppose I slot right in here. I didn't know it was actually called OCD until I was 30 and talking to another friend that had been diagnosed and thought 'that... sounds familiar.'

fuck it. shout out to "high functioning" neurodivergents

the ones who can mask easily, the ones who can get social cues, the ones who have managed to go most of their life not even knowing they were ND because they didn't present as the stereotypical ND person.

the ones who can pay attention in class, understand social etiquette, who understand societial expectations

the ones who don't feel neurodivergent enough bc they don't struggle in the same ways/areas a lot of NDs do, or they can't relate to other NDs' experiences because they always understood these things easily

the ones with high empathy, the ones who DO get the joke, the ones who are constantly told that they can't possibly be neurodivergent because they don't act like what you'd expect a neurodivergent person to act like.

you are neurodivergent enough. you are valid, and so are your experiences. not struggling as much as others do in some places doesn't mean you dont struggle at all. your condition and diagnosis is valid. your symptoms are valid. YOU ARE VALID. not checking all the supposed boxes doesn't mean you aren't neurodivergent. you are enough. you are valid. you are loved. you are valued. you matter. you belong in neurodivergent spaces, you deserve to use whatever resources are available to you, you are allowed to take up space in these communities. and i am so, so proud of you.

feel free to, and actually, i encourage you to reblog this with your experiences. we belong in this community as much as anyone else. please also tag this w/ any neurodivergent conditions i may have forgotten 💙

since this is getting lots of notes I'd like to add, even if you're undiagnosed or maybe self diagnosed, for whatever reason, (i.e. can't get access to a diagnosis, not being taken seriously, or just not wanting an official diagnosis, etc.) this still applies to you. actually especially to you folks. don't think for a second you're not valid just bc you don't have the paperwork or whatever to say it

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (seven)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

For the first time in years, you wake up peacefully. 

No racing heart, no threats lurking behind your closed eyes.

Just... calm. The type of quiet that lets you sink into the warmth of the blankets without a single worry. You’re so cozy, so perfectly at ease, you almost forget where you are and what led you here.

For a blissful moment, all you know is stillness. But then it hits you—this isn't your bed. No footsteps are stomping down the hall, no harsh voices insulting you through your morning peace. 

You blink your eyes open, and it’s a simple little room. Not much here but a heavy old quilt over you, a plain dresser, a lamp that looks like it's been there forever. A small window where the sun is streaming in, bathing everything in a golden glow. 

It’s almost funny, you realize with a little smile. You ran as far as you could, with no real plan except to escape, and somehow, by some twist of fate, you ended up here.

And then you remember why it feels so familiar. 

It’s Rafe’s. 

Your heart flutters around like it’s waking up for the first time in a while, too. You found him—or maybe he found you. After all those years of wondering what happened to him, your first love, the boy with grease-stained hands and the brightest smile was back.

He still looked at you like he cared, that was a given after what he did for you yesterday, between taking you to the hospital and offering you a place to stay, as if the years hadn’t put a single dent in the way he used to see you.

You’d half-expected him to just...look through you like you were a stranger. But Rafe—well, he’d always been different, hadn't he?

You let out a small, relieved sigh and curl up a little tighter under the quilt, sinking deeper into it, because today, you don’t have to run.

Back then, everything about Rafe felt like some secret only you were lucky enough to know. The scrapes on his knuckles, the stains that never really washed off his clothes, the way he’d sneak you out to the pier after dark to talk under the stars like you were the only two people on earth.

The entire world disappeared when you were with him—the line between Kook and Pogue didn’t mean a thing.

You remember his laugh, this loud carefree sound that would just bubble up, surprising even him. He’d make fun of how out of place you looked on the back of his old bike, but then he’d smile in this crooked, lovestruck way and kiss you so hard it didn’t matter. 

God, you were in so deep, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that he was yours, and you were his, and nothing else could touch that.

Your mind is a mess of memories, all those nights you used to slip out to meet him, sneaking around with this thrill in your chest, like you were getting away with something impossible. 

It all changed so fast.

One night, he was there, laughing with you in bed and calling you "princess" in that teasing way only he could get away with. The next, he was gone. You had no warning, no explanation—just this space where he used to be. Your parents finally admitted what they'd done, talking about him like he was a problem they’d finally got to fix. They had tried to break him, ship him off to some military school hours away, like he was just… trash.

But Rafe had always been too smart for them. He ran instead, left everything he knew behind, including you, before anyone could try to cage him. You didn’t understand it fully at first. You couldn’t.

Before college started, you’d waited at all your old spots, hoping he’d show up, that he’d come to you in the middle of the night, even if it meant climbing in through your bedroom window just to say goodbye.

But he never did, when the days turned into weeks, then months, you realized he’d left for good.

You never let him go, not really.

While everyone else told you to move on, you dug in. You spent so much, countless weekends sneaking off with the cash you'd save, paying people in shady corners of town, anyone who might know where he’d gone. You chased whispers and rumors and stray leads, but none of them ever led you to him. You used to lie awake at night praying he was okay, safe, wondering if he was ever thinking of you the way you still thought of him every single day.

You can’t shake the déjà vu now, lying here in his bed, realizing that somehow, by some freak chance, the universe led you back to him.

You think about yesterday, the look on his face when he saw you in his shop, like he couldn’t believe it was real either. He’d dropped everything, no hesitation. 

You call back to those years without him— you’d try to keep going, but every day was like you were carrying a dead weight no one else could see. Nights were the worst. 

You’d lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying all those stolen moments with him, pieces of a dream you were desperate not to forget. It was like trying to hold water in your hands; no matter how hard you tried, bits of him kept slipping through, fading with time, until you started to wonder if maybe you’d imagined how it felt to be that close to someone.

And God, you tried to let go, eventually.

You told yourself over and over, it was time to stop chasing after someone who’d left without a goodbye, who didn't want to be found.

You even went on dates, pretended you could replace him, like it would be so easy to “find someone else.” But no one else ever remotely compared to him.

No one else ever made you feel seen like that. 

Certainly not Frederic and it's like a stab to your heart to even think about it now.

You’d never planned to be with someone like him. He was handsome, polite when you met him; everyone around you liked him, and your parents might as well have handed you over to him in a silver platter the second he moved to town.

They’d called it “the perfect match”—his family’s money, your family’s reputation. They belived it would keep you distracted, and finally help you forget the boy they’d done everything to erase from your life.

You went along with it.

What choice did you really have? Rafe had been gone for almost three years, and you were supposed to move on, fit into this life they wanted for you. So you played along, smiled through dinner parties and gatherings, told yourself you could settle for this.

He wasn’t cruel, not in the beginning, just possessive. You’d told yourself it was almost flattering, that it meant he cared about you, wanted you to be his in some way.

Until the day he found that old picture, the one you’d kept hidden away in your wallet all those years.

That’s when everything changed and he never looked at you the same after that. Suddenly, each glance, every small thing you did, the little freedom you had was a threat to him. You weren’t allowed to go out without him or talk to anyone he didn’t approve of.

He made you feel like you were nothing but his property, something he could control and shape into whatever he wanted. He tore apart the dainty pieces of your younger self you’d managed to keep, as if any proof of the life you’d had with Rafe was something he needed to crush with his bare hands.

After a while, he didn’t even attempt to hide the anger.

The first time he hit you, you’d been shocked, unable to believe it was happening. He apologized right after, swore it would never happen again, but you knew. 

It was only the beginning.

From that day on, you lived in fear, knowing that any misstep could set him off, that each move you made was a risk. You learned to stay quiet, to keep your head down, to shrink yourself into a pet that wouldn’t provoke him.

Nothing was ever enough.

He’d pick fights out of nowhere, accuse you of things that didn’t make sense, twist everything around until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But you kept that picture.

Even after everything, he’d broken down every bit of strength you had, but you wouldn’t let it go. It was the only piece of Rafe you had, it didn’t matter that it was just a scrap. When Frederic was away doing business, late at night, you’d pull it out and stare at it, trace the edges of Rafe’s smile with your thumb, wishing you’d get to live something as beautiful again.

You’d almost forgotten was being okay felt like, to be somewhere you weren’t afraid to breathe too loud.

You sit up slowly, the quilt sliding off your shoulders as you stretch your arms overhead, your stomach is already growling with anticipation.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you take a micro second to breathe in the peaceful quiet around you, then, you shuffle to the kitchen, still half wondering if it’s happening, if Rafe is really back in your life after all this time. 

As you enter the kitchen, your heart does a little leap at the sight before you. There, resting on the table is a plate piled high with pancakes, golden and fluffy, topped with a pat of melting butter and a drizzle of syrup.

It looks so delicious and so… thoughtful. It’s the kind of breakfast you’d imagined when you were younger, that felt like love poured into every bite. Next to the plate, there’s a note, scribbled in Rafe’s familiar handwriting, the same jagged loops and curls that make you smile like you’re seventeen again.

You pick it up, your fingers brushing over the paper as you read, “had to run to the shop, didn’t want you to wake up hungry. eat these and don't save some for me, okay?”. You tuck the note into your pocket, almost like a talisman, and turn your attention back to the pancakes.

You settle at the table, the chair creaking beneath you, and pick up a fork. The first bite is like heaven—soft and sweet, the syrup running down your chin as you take a big mouthful.

You can’t stop the giggles, remembering those late-night snacks where you���d sneak with him, trying to be quiet so no one would hear. 

He always ended up with more syrup on him than in the bowl.

As you devour the breakfast he made, you envision how he must have stood there in the kitchen, mixing the batter and flipping.

It's fun to picture him humming to himself, the light from the window hitting his dark blonde hair just right, making him look like some sort of guardian angel. The thought sends butterflies fluttering through your body, and after years in the dark, you feel light.

After finishing the last bite you can’t help but smile at the empty plate in front of you. Rafe really outdid himself. You feel a little giddy, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the syrup or the comfort of the food. 

With a little bounce in your step, you push back the chair and head to the sink, rinsing off the plate. You look around the cozy kitchen, taking in the mismatched mugs and the old-fashioned fridge that looks like it’s seen a hundred breakfasts. It feels lived-in and warm, like a home should, despite not being full.

You can picture Rafe here, maybe making his disgusting black coffee, playing music while he reads. You’d love to share that with him, even if it sounds silly.

You wander to the window above the sink, pull back the curtain and peek out.

Outside, the engine noises and clanking tools are a little noisy but better than the yelling you’re used to. You can see him moving around, his familiar silhouette bent over the engine of a car, grease smudged across his forearms, the sun glinting off his skin.

You’re chewing your lip to death while you admire him like he's the last man on earth. Rafe is dressed in a snug white tank top that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric slightly worn and smudged with grease from a long morning in the shop, showcasing his broad shoulders and the beefy muscles of his biceps.

His arms are covered in a light sheen of oil, making him appear even more rugged and, honestly, a little bit scrumptious. He looks so effortlessly beautiful even in the middle of a workday.

His hair is tousled, falling in soft, messy waves that occasionally cover his eyes, and you find yourself wanting to reach up and push it back just so you can see his gorgeous blue eyes fully. 

This is what you’d dreamed about, all those nights, clutching that tiny picture of him to your chest. Just seeing him like this, working hard like he used to be when you’d sneak out to find him.

You feel bad though.

He’d stayed up late with you, sat with you for hours, listening as you poured everything out, even as you broke down, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He held you until you fell asleep in his lap, his arms wrapped around you. And now, here he is, working already, probably exhausted after getting barely any rest.

You move back to his bedroom, scolding yourself for wanting to go out there and warn him to take it easy, but you know him.

He wouldn’t listen. 

And maybe a part of you doesn’t want him to, either, because having him there all night, knowing he was close by, made you feel content.

Rafe never did anything halfway, did he? Even back then, he was so… him, so all-in, with that devotion that used to leave you breathless and a little woozy.

Years later, he’s still giving everything he has to make sure you’re okay, he hasn’t changed at all in the ways that matter.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to savor it, to commit this peace to memory in case you need it again someday. You’re not naïve; you know there are things to figure out, talks that need to happen, but he didn’t leave this time, didn’t slip away in the middle of the night, no hidden messages or unspoken goodbyes. 

He’s right here, where you can see him. 

You're still lost in thought, when you hear the front door open.

You sit up, smoothing out your hair and trying not to seem as flustered as you feel.

Footsteps come down the hall, until Rafe appears in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, one hand braced above his head, looking at you with this little smirk that’s shier than he’d probably ever admit.

There’s a smear of grease on his jaw, and his tank top’s even dirtier than before, he’s been deep in a car engine for hours already.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough, that southern drawl warming you to your toes. “Just came in to, uh… check on ya. Make sure you ate and all.” He nods toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. His eyes move to the empty plate on the table, and he lets out a tiny chuckle. “Guess ya did.”

You can’t help but smile back, a little nervous, and shy. There’s this energy between you—it feels like you’re both walking on eggshells, not quite sure how to talk to each other now that the cards are all on the table. 

“Yeah,” you nod softly, clutching the quilt closer. “They were perfect. Thank you.”

He clears his throat, color creeping up his neck as he shrugs. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand every part of you that’s been ripped apart, searching for the pieces of the girl he used to know, while still seeing the woman you’ve become.

Rafe shuffles his feet, his hand drifting to rub the back of his neck, “Sorry, I should probably clean up,” he mutters, glancing down at his hands. “Lookin’ like a damn grease monkey in here.”

You laugh, and the sound seems to surprise him, making him look up with this sheepish grin that’s just so… him. For a second, no time has passed at all, you’re both still seventeen and completely caught up in each other.

Rafe’s gaze lands on the spot where the blanket’s slipped, showing a faint bruise along your collarbone. His muscles tighten just slightly, and he exhales as he asks, “You feelin’ any better?”

You nod, but he’s already moving closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level, his expression creased with worry. He reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back, second-guessing himself.

“They, uh… they still hurt?” He nods toward the bruises, his eyes darting over them with a pained look, like he feels every mark himself. He starts rambling, “I got some ice packs in the freezer if you need ’em or I could go grab one of those heat pads, I dunno which one’s better, but we can try both if you need. I don’t want you just sittin’ here hurtin’.” He gestures vaguely, tracing every inch of your body with this helpless, guilty look, because if he could take them on himself, he would.

“And, uh… I mean, if you’re achin’ at all, I got some Tylenol in the cabinet—not the strongest stuff, but it might help a little. Or if you need anything else, I can just run out and grab it.” His gaze darts back to your face, and he adds quickly, “Only if you want, though! I know you’re… you’re strong and all, but don’t mean you gotta sit there and hurt, alright?”

You can't stop smiling, watching him try to take care of you in his own awkward, fumbling way. His shoulders are all hunched up, his fingers fidgeting against his jeans, and there’s that endearing tint creeping up his neck again.

“Rafe…” you cut him off, and he stops mid-ramble, his mouth half-open, looking like he just got caught saying too much.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, afraid he might’ve overstepped.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

His fingers curl around yours instantly, holding on like he needs the contact just as much as you do. It’s the smallest thing, just the press of his hand against yours, but after so long of being handled like broken porcelain, it’s overwhelming.

“Really, and I’m—I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you yesterday.”

You hadn’t planned on telling him every detail of your personal hell, but he made it so easy.

You were never the best at thinking while under that gaze, it’s wrapped in old memories and hope, and it scares you just as much as it soothes you. He’s close, the scent of his aftershave and engine grease making you feel dizzy with the memory of each kiss, whisper, every reckless promise you’d both made once upon a time.

Rafe sequeezes your hand tighter, thumb grazing your knuckles. 

"Don’t be sorry. Not for that.” It’s so like him, and it nearly breaks you right there. All that quiet loyalty, he doesn’t even know how much he’s giving, he thinks you deserve all of it without question. “You don’t have to go back, y’know. Not if you don’t want to.”

This is real, and he’s right here, asking you to let him in, to let him be the one who pulls you from the darkness. The hardest part is, you know he would.

He’d fight the whole world if he thought it would keep you safe, if it meant you could stay. It’s terrifying, to even hope that you could have this, have him. 

You cover your mouth, maybe if you squeeze hard enough, you can hold it in, but a choked sob escapes anyway, desperate, in a way that embarrasses you. Your shoulders start to shake, and the tears just keep coming, slipping down your jaw and dripping onto your sweater, his.

You try to wipe them away with the back of your hand, but they keep coming, your breaths are turning into these broken gasps that make you feel exposed.

Rafe’s moving without a word, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pulling you into his lap like he had last night. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to hurt you, and you let yourself fold into him, leaning against his chest, the most familiar place in the world.

He tucks your head under his chin, his fingers cradling the back of your neck, and as your tears soak into his shirt, he leans down, whispering, his breath warm against your forehead.

 “I got you. ‘m right here. Ain’t lettin’ go of you.”

He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t make you feel ashamed for being so sensitive. 

Instead, he brushes his hand up and down your back, whispering quiet reassurances, giving you all the time in the world. He waits until your sobs taper off, left with only the shudders and hiccupping breaths, and even then, he just sits there quietly, letting you be. 

Then, almost like he’s talking to himself, he starts,“So… y’know, been kind of busy these past few years,” he says, glancing away like he’s embarrassed. “Kept up with a lot of late nights in the shop. Got good at fixing engines—real good, actually. Think I could probably fix just about anything, even if it’s been beat up and run-down more times than you’d think possible.”

Rafe’s fingers trace along your arm as he talks, and you know why he’s doing this. He’s looking toward the window, most likely remembering each late night he’s spent there alone.

“Didn’t make much of it at first—just me and Jerry. But folks kept comin’ in, one by one, and eventually, we hired a few guys to help out.” He pauses, swallowing, “Guess it’s sort of a thing now.”

You feel your lips tug up and he must notice because his grip on you relaxes, and he lets out this almost bashful chuckle.

“Got a dog, too,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck like he’s telling you something ridiculous. “Well, he just kinda showed up one day at the shop, but he kept stickin’ around, so I named him Ace. Big, goofy mutt—probably not as tough as he thinks, but he likes to act like he’s protecting the place.” He shakes his head, “You’d like him, I think. He’d probably love you more than he loves me the second you showed up, little traitor. He sleeps downstairs."

“But y’know, no matter how busy it got, or how many things kept changin’… didn’t really feel like home.” He pauses, his hand moving to brush away a stray tear that’s found its way down your cheek, “I thought maybe if I just kept busy enough, I’d stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Thought it’d get easier with time. But…” He trails off, like he’s confessing a secret. “Turns out it didn’t. No matter where I went, or what I did, it was always just there. Missin’ you.”

You can feel the soft rasp of his thumb against your neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” he clicks his tongue, tipping your chin up with a knuckle until your eyes meet his, blue eyes looking at you with a tenderness that almost makes you bawl again. “None of that. I told you, you got nothin’ to be sorry for.” His gaze sweeps across your features, “You been through hell and back. I know that ain’t easy to walk away from, not like that.”

His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek while you ask him, “What if he… what if he finds me?” 

Rafe’s jaw tightens, and there it is—that old, familiar fire lighting up in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d get any time someone even thought about hurting you, he’d rather throw himself in front of a train than let anything happen to you. 

“He’s never gonna touch you again, okay? Not as long as I’m around.” His voice is almost a growl, fierce enough that makes you believe him. “I won’t let him, I swear it.”

You can’t even speak. Your heart feels so full of gratitude, but you manage to force out a, “Thank you, Rafe.”

He pulls the hair back from your face, “You don’t gotta thank me,” he murmurs, “All I ever wanted was for you to be okay. That’s enough for me.”

You look up at him, fingers sweeping against his skin as you ask, “Tell me more? About everything? I feel like I missed so much…”

You attempt to keep your voice from quivering, but there’s this misery in your chest, a deep longing to know the parts of him you hadn’t been there to witness. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, and then he looks down, being reluctant.

“Yeah, uh… there was one time I went to your university,” he confesses, the words coming out hushed, he’s scared he shouldn’t be admitting this. “It was years ago, but… yeah. I went up there to see you.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” The word slips out in disbelief, and you lean in, “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I just… I wanted to see you. Thought maybe I could run into you, or—” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “Maybe I was hopin’ I’d have the guts to actually talk to you. 

Your brain can’t help but conjure up, what it might’ve happened if he’d just walked across campus that day, to you. The two of you in that place.

You picture yourself, sitting on one of those worn benches under the big oak trees that dotted the quad, maybe with a book open on your lap that you weren’t really reading, because all you could think about was him. It wouldn’t have taken much—the way his heavy boots hit the ground, the scent of his cologne. Would you have jumped up and hugged him? Or would you have sat there, staring at him, wondering if you were somehow dreaming it all up?

It’s a fantasy, you know that, but deep down, you wish that had been your reality—the two of you fighting for each other instead of letting the world and distance pull you apart. It hurts like a bitch, thinking of all those lost years, all the things that could’ve been different if you’d both just been a little braver.

“Rafe…” you breath, and there’s so much tangled in that one word.

The years, the heartbreak, the distance—you don’t even know where to begin, and yet, you don’t need to. He looks at you as if he understands every unspoken word like he’s been waiting just as long.

“I didn’t see you.”

“Hey,” he coos, pulling you just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “It’s my fault, I was scared.”

You smile through the fresh tears gathering and he slants his forehead against yours, brushing one away with his thumb, his face close enough that you could count each freckle if you wanted.

“It’s okay."

“I missed you, so much.”

You hadn’t just missed him—you’d missed the way he made you feel.

Brave. Free. No matter what happened, it would be okay as long as he was by your side. He smiles, a little crooked like because he’s not used to hearing it, he feels like the lucky one here.

 “You’ve always been my girl, y’know that? Ain’t nothing gonna change that. Not then, not now, not ever.”

Rafe’s slowly stitching up something inside you didn’t even know was still bleeding. You wonder if he knows that you're still shattered, that you’re not sure how to feel whole again, but you want to try, for him.

The way he talks tells you that he still can see you as the girl he fell in love with and it makes you hopeful that maybe she’s still somewhere inside you, waiting to be found.

Does he feel the same? Does he mean it, all this talk of missing you, of always coming back to you? Or is he just being kind, because he thinks you need to be treated like a wounded animal?

He’s got his own scars, things he’s carried, and he’s been hiding them just as much as you’ve been hiding yours. 

You wonder what he’s not saying, if he’s afraid of hoping for too much, like you are. Perhaps he’s holding you like this because he’s still holding on to that invisible string that’s kept you tied to him all this time. 

You close your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself breathe him in, feel him under your fingertips.

His lips pucker against your temple, “Don’t overthink, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”

But realistically speaking, how long can you run for before the monsters in your nightmares catch up to you?

[bunnwich]

This is altogether random, but I feel you might appreciate the idea: since Leona is doing his internship with a mining company in Sunset Savanna, I like to think if he were to propose to his partner, any ring would have a stone he found himself (then or years later) that made him think of them, because they’re worth the effort.

No, I love this so much and this actually inspired to think of some HC for Leona and Yuu's engagement!! So pardon me as I use this as an excuse to yap/draw.

🧡Leona x Yuu Proposal

🧡Engagement:

I picture Leona and Yuu would be together a while time before he worrys about marriage. Leona as we know is not traditional by any means. And the two are so used to just…being there for each other, lives intertwined like a braid. 

At this time after NRC I see Leona having his hands in a few things, but mostly just there as support for Yuu and even Ruggie as they navigate graduating. After his internship he currently sits as a member of the Board of Environmental Utilization.

I think they would already live together in a somewhat isolated place near the edge of the Outlands and Sunrise City. Leona originally helped get it for Yuu to have a forever home but now he finds himself there more and more. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, reminding Yuu of the Ramshackle.

I imagine their house has a revolving door policy and often has uninvited guests, Ruggie comes to visit a lot and uses it as a place to crash when he's in town to see his Granny. And then there's Cheka (who is now a teen rebelling against his parents.)

Often the two take late-night drives in Leona’s jeep to get away from the craziness of all. Leona struggles trying to adapt to a more humble living situation and lifestyle. (he still can't work the microwave for a damn), but he tries enjoying the quiet life he has with Yuu. Yuu is still figuring out how they will fit in in their new homeland as a Sunset Savanna citizen.

I feel Leona’s family would be hassling them about marriage for years but neither are too keen on the idea of it liking their private life. However, Leona knows it’s the easiest way to protect Yuu and make sure they always have a home and inherit the house they fixed up together. (Should anything ever happen to him.) Plus, it would give them full citizenship in his homeland. 

So one day, he decides that it's time to make it legal. Of course, he already knew a long time ago that they belonged to one another, this is so cemented in his mind and he’s not even that nervous about it. At this point, they’ve been through so much together they live together, they are one. So, he does it in his Leona way.

On one of their sunset drives together he pulls out a special ring his sister-in-law helped him design with Yuu's three favorite stones that he’d sent them in their time apart. He had two requests when he had it made: it had to have a moon for Yuu and a stone for both of them.

Leona during his internship would often collect stones he would find in the mines, finding some to send to Yuu. He knew that they liked that sorta stuff even if he didn't care for it. And he didn’t mind writing down little geological facts for them. 

“So…ya wanna be married to me?”

Yuu would honestly not expect it. And he said it so casually too! Smug bastard. But as usual, he was…right, their lives were so connected they couldn't imagine not seeing his cocky face every day or hearing his soft words of encouragement then loud ass snores every night.

“Okay.” They say with a shrug, and Yuu would be crying for both them. He was right, it just made sense. Besides, what would the lion do without them?

After putting the ring on their finger he'd wrap his arms around them, intending to never let go after that. He can’t help but get teary too. He never thought that he’d have someone like his brother did, to be by his side always.

“Well, now, yer stuck with me.”

“That’s okay.”

🧡Wedding:

As for a wedding, I KNOW Falena and Sis-in-law would press for a big, fat traditional Sunset Savanna wedding. There is a bit of controversy among some old-fashioned council members that Leona is marrying an outsider and a few murmuring that Yuu is a human too. But Leona’s favorability in the kingdom has always been so divided that some take an apathetic view, expecting this behavior from the second prince anyway.

Being a “spare heir” works in Leona’s favor this time, as there is not as much pressure for an arranged marriage for him as his brother had. Though there’s still some pushback. They were fine viewing Yuuta as a fling but it’s tradition for royal family members to have political marriages.

It’s a bit of strain on their relationship during this time with the stress of the capital’s spotlight on them. Since Leona told no one about it until after he proposed to Yuu. But, because a few on the council are fond of Yuu already, (as well as the queen regent), it all works out eventually! (Leona threatens to take Yuu and run away so many times.)

It is an…adjustment getting this much attention for Yuu. But, because the house they chose is already out of the prying eyes, the two compromise by agreeing to a true royal wedding…

This doesn’t last long. The two get fed up and…elope a few months later in the middle of the night. Cheka/Ruggie sneak out to be witnesses. Falena and the queen are pissed and make them promise to get married again in a few years publicly.

🧡Traditions:

Rings are a bit more of a modern marriage tradition in the Sunset Savanna as other countries' cultures melded with theirs over the years. Leona has never been one for traditions anyway and he liked the idea of matching rings, made out of the same ore and gems.

An old tradition of Sunset Savanna marriages is that of permanent bracelets, braided by hand by the officiating party. They are meant to stay on til death. Often colored beads are added to represent each personality. The braided hemp itself represents an eternity together in this life and the next. Through the circle of life, they are connected from then on out. 

[greengoblinswifey]

hii ! could you write a story about like nicholas chavez as a doctor x fem patient smut, I've been trying to find a good story like this but I literally can't 😭😭

much love !!

summary— you’re referred to Dr. Chavez at the hospital due to a misdiagnosis. one of your symptoms include intense, unrelenting arousal and as your doctor, it’s his job to help make you better in any way he can.

warnings— female masturbation, voyeurism, abuse of power, fingering, body worship, oral, degrading kink, praise kink, public sex kinda(hospital), unprotected sex, sir kink, ass slapping, choking(with tie), erotic asphyxiation, use of doctor during sex, slight manipulation if you squint, aftercare.

a/n— i’d love if you guys send requests, reblog and comment☺️

After a recent misdiagnosis left you frustrated and your symptoms worsening, you were referred to Dr. Chavez. Though he seemed slightly irritated about having to “fix someone else's mess,” he introduced himself with a polite but distant professionalism. He stood before you, impeccably dressed in a white coat over a crisp suit and tie, every detail in place. He was calm, collected, and intensely focused as he started going over your symptoms.

When you finally mentioned the most embarrassing one, the constant, nearly unbearable arousal, you noticed his reaction, a slight widening of his eyes, and a pause in his typing. “And, uh, how often would you say this happens?” he asked, his voice steady but his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

“Constantly doctor,” you admitted, cheeks flushing. “I’m always horny, sometimes it’s painful. Like, I just can’t think straight, or focus on anything else.”

After ordering several tests, he told you they’d need to monitor you at the hospital. This only intensified your frustration, the more time you spent in his presence, the worse your symptoms felt, in particular your constant arousal. You tried to distract yourself by prying into his life, probing the doctor with questions. You noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, which made your mind spin even more.

Hours turned to days, and your symptoms didn’t let up. You felt more tired, the frustration mounting as medical staff came in and out of your room. Privacy was nearly impossible, leaving you with no room to release the growing arousal that only got worse.

One night, after another round of exhausting tests, the hallway was finally quiet. You were alone. You couldn’t help yourself, the relief you craved was all you could think about. Without any other means as your vibrator had long since been forgotten at home, you let your fingers slide down, imagining Dr. Chavez’s calm voice, his firm hands. You closed your eyes, stifling a moan, picturing him standing over you, his gaze intense.

You flipped the sheets off you and hiked up the hospital gown they draped you in. Still not satisfied, you ripped your underwear off and spread your legs, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit then slipping into your sloppy hole. Soft moans filled the room as your head was swarming with thoughts of Dr. Chavez being the one to make you feel good.

Just then, the door clicked open, and there he was, clipboard in hand, looking caught off guard. He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the way you quickly pulled your hand back. He cleared his throat. “I came to check on you,” he said, his tone layered with something more than just professional concern.

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “Doctor, I—it's been so hard, I couldn’t help myself.”

For a moment, he lingered there, eyes locked on yours, before he shook himself slightly. “It’s part of my job to ensure you’re comfortable and to help you,” he replied, voice slightly rougher, eyes not quite meeting yours as he jotted something down on the clipboard.

You looked at him, unable to hold back the desperation any longer and you noticed the dent in his pants. “Well help me, doctor,” you whispered, voice thick with need. “Can you do something to make it go away? Please give me something, anything to make it stop.”

He stopped in his tracks, his already intense gaze darkening as he absorbed your words. “Beg,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Please, doctor,” you said, voice trembling, willing yourself to keep his attention. “Please help me, I need you to fix me, make me feel better.”

A dark chuckle slipped from him as he locked the door behind him, his fingers throwing off his tie and shrugging off his coat. He then stood right before you, his eyes sweeping over your form.

Without another word, he reached out, his fingertips barely grazing over your thigh as he leaned in close. “Needy, aren’t you?” he murmured with a smirk. His fingers teased, trailing down until they brushed against your pussy, his touch almost unbearably light.

“Please, Dr. Chavez,” you pleaded again, breath catching as his fingers lingered at the edges of your need. “Please, sir.”

His smile only widened as he took in your reaction, and without another moment’s hesitation, he knelt down before you. His hands were firm under your thighs and then his mouth was on your leaking pussy, a loud moan leaving you as he began. His focus was unrelenting, and you couldn’t contain your whimpers, each one drawing him in closer.

Every sound you made seemed to fuel him, his hands gripping you tighter, his touch sending you higher.

“Yes that’s it sir, don’t stop,” you whimpered, your hands going to his hair as you held him close and moved your pussy all over his mouth.

“Mm- you taste so fucking good, so fucking desperate for me aren’t you,” he hummed, in between licks.

He continued, now slipping a finger inside you and sucking on your clit, until, you arched your back off the bed and felt yourself let go, a sensation so intense you squirted and felt your pussy and your whole body quivering from it all.

His eyes met yours, a smirk on his lips. “You were so desperate, weren't you?” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Glad I could help.”

You leaned in and placed a sloppy kiss on his lips, savoring your own delectable taste.

“Hm,” Dr. Chavez paused, his lips still mere inches away from you, “based on my observations, I’ve come to the conclusion that you still need my help. You still need me to make you better, so I have to put my dick inside you sweetheart, I just have to.”

You nodded almost mindlessly, leaning into his touch, his mere presence was intoxicating. Though you got the relief you wanted, having him so close to you brought you back to square one. Your pussy was still leaking.

Breathlessly, he unbuckled his pants, the sight before you making you drool like a dog in heat. He slipped himself out, revealing a long, thick and rock hard cock you would do anything to feel inside you.

“God, look at you,” he said, licking his lips and pumping his cock, “tell me how bad you want me, how bad you want this dick.”

“Please sir, I want you so bad, I need you to fuck me. please help me,” you panted, desperation evident in your voice.

“That’s a good girl, my patients are always so obedient.” He grabbed your hair, bringing you down to his cock’s level and thrusted into your mouth.

“Worship this cock,” he demanded, his voice sounding strained as he tried to contain his moans.

“Fuck, I love your cock doctor, it tastes so good, I- mm, need it so fucking bad,” you said, in between having his dick brush your tonsil. You slurped and moaned as you continuously gagged on the feeling of him being so deep in your throat. Reaching down, you played with your clit, desperate for some sort of relief.

“Hey, hey, no,” Dr. Chavez bellowed, “stop touching yourself. I’m your doctor and I know what’s best, I’ll help you with my dick inside you, those tiny little fingers won’t satisfy you. They won’t make you better.”

You whimpered in response but listened. He was your doctor after all, he knew best. He would never tell you anything that wasn’t accurate.

His moans grew breathy and louder but as soon as you felt his balls tighten, he pulled you off his cock by the hair and in a swift motion, you fell flat on the bed.

“S’gonna be okay sweetheart, my cock inside you is gonna make it all better.”

Just as swiftly, his cock pierced your pussy, slipping inside you and stretching you slowly. The stretch was burning as he groaned and pushed deeper but the feeling was soon replaced by immense pleasure.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking wet, sloppy fucking pussy you’ve got huh,” he moaned, chuckling.

Your face was contorted in pleasure, looking up at your doctor as he pounded into you, the feeling better than anything else you’d ever experienced in your life. Your moans willed him on and his thrusts became more frantic as he felt your pussy grip and tighten around him.

“That’s it baby, this desperate little pussy can’t get enough of her doctor’s cock, gripping me so tight like she doesn’t wanna let me go.” A sob left your lips due to the intensity of it all and soon, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gripping on to him for dear life as you squirted on his cock.

“Good girl, that’s my needy fucking whore, let it all out.”

Small whimpers filled the hospital room as you slowly came down from your high, but you were still needy, your body grinding against him sending even more jolts of pleasure through you.

“M-more, please sir, just one more,” you begged tears in your eyes.

“Jesus Christ baby, you’re a fucking desperate whore aren’t you, God, you just can’t get enough of my cock.”

Your lips quivered and you knew you were being desperate but you didn’t care, all you cared about was your release just one more time. Just once and you’d be okay for the next few days. You needed it quick, the commotion was surely to make a nurse come wandering soon.

“I just— oh,” your sentence was cut short as he easily flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up to him and slipped inside your wet pussy once more. You spread your legs and arched your back, needing him as deep inside you as he could go.

“That’s it baby, spread this fucking pussy.” He slapped your ass harshly and soon you felt something slip around your neck. It was his tie. He slipped the tie around your neck, not enough to restrict your airflow too much, but just enough to have your head spinning and only the thought of his cock in it.

“Take it, take this fucking dick. You were so desperate for it, now you have it.” A small cry left your lips as you felt him repeatedly hit your g spot.

“Oh you fucking love it, you love your doctor’s cock deep inside your wet fucking pussy don’t you, whore,” he inquired, pulling you back to his chest by the tie around your neck.

“Y- yes, I love it sir,” you managed to croak out.

“Good girl, because as long as you’re here and under my care, you’re gonna get this dick every fucking night. Every fucking time you’re needy and desperate my cock is gonna be here to fill this pussy.”

His words sent you over the edge and your body convulsed under his touch as you squirted. He continued fucking you through your high but you couldn’t take anymore. You squirmed away from him, your pussy somehow still gushing and he quickly pulled out, releasing his warm cum all over your back.

“Fucking hell, your pussy is just gushing,” he moaned, as he pumped his cock, milking himself of everything onto your back.

Your body was so weak you could barely form words as you tried to thank him for making you feel better.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, it’s my job to help you.” He shushed you then went to the bathroom, bringing back a cloth to clean you up and get you back into your underwear and fix your gown. He didn’t need anyone coming to check and seeing you in that state.

He kissed your forehead, caressing your body as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“It’s okay baby, go to sleep, your doctor’s gonna always be here to make you feel better.”

[jjkarmy091]

Second Best - Jungkook (part 5)

Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Jungkook’s feeling down lately.

After leaving Sewoon in the club, he hopped on his motorcycle and started driving until he reached his own home. Opening the front door he looked around and was emerged by this void feelling. He didn't know what was going on and why he felt the way he did. It wasn't a normal reaction of his. His night even went okay, he was having fun with his friends and kissed the girl he was in love with. How come everything turned out to this shitty. 

Then he remembered Y/n, the way she spoke with him before leaving. Did he say something he wasn't supposed to? Was she mad because of the guy she was sad for? He picked up his phone and called her, not once, not twice but four times. In any of those tries did she pick up.

“Hey Y/n. Just wanted to let you know I’m home and safe. I’m sorry the way things went out tonight, it was a very confusing night. Are we good? We never fought before and I'm lost here. I just-- I want you to know I care about you Y/n, a lot. Never forget that”  

Five minutes later: 

“Please call or text me when you get the chance so I know you are okay and we can talk about it” 

"Don't leave me in the dark Y/n. I'm beggin you. Talk to me or else I'll lose it"

Nothing. After millions of calls and text the response was not what he was expecting and it was driving him insane. Breathing heavily he sent one last text

---------------------------------------

Sitting down on his couch waiting for a call or reply from you was being a nightmare. It's been an hour and he got nothing from you. He fucked up bad. "Shit”. Then his phone started ringing and he answered it so quickly he didn't have time to see who it was, almost dropping it midway.  

“Hello?” 

“Hi Jk.” Sewoon replied on the other side. “Did you get home already? I wanna apologize for the way I spoke earlier about Y/n. You’re right, I shouldn’t have take it so easily and said those things. Were you able to talk to her after?” 

“Ahhh Sewoon. No I didn’t. She's probably asleep. I’m sure she’s alright.” Jungkook said nervously. “she better be. She’s not home either. I went there and no response” Sewoon said and Jungkook mind stopped working. What does she mean she's not home either? Did she really went out with some guy? She was never the one to behave like this. Only if she was --

“Jk are you listening to me? Can I come over to yours? Leaving Y/n aside for a bit, I thought we could have some fun I saw how stressed you were before. I want to help you shake it off a little, like old times”

Jungkook could only laugh to himself thinking how crazy he was when he said “I’m sorry Sewoon, not today. I’m tired and wanna get some rest okay? I'm sorry. If you get any info on Y/n, please tell me yeah? Just to be sure she really is okay. Sleep thigh"

Dropping his phone next to him, he turned the tv off, went to his bedroom, laid down and tried to find a way to sleep

----- 

Y/n called her manager the next morning asking for some days off, caliming she was having some personal issues and needed some time to fix them. The manager put no restraining to that, giving her a week off since she never missed work and was a great employee. She knew that too damn well.  She spent her life that goddamn coffee shop trying to earn every penny she could .

After drinking with Lisa and clean the mess they made she tried to get some sleep. Everytime she was about to close her eyes her phone screen would light up. She would look at it. Another notification from Jungkook and one in particular from Sewoon saying “you better had some fun tonight bitch because you leaving the club with someone else ruined my night. Jungkook lost his mind thinking you were in trouble. Call me up".

Y/n couldn’t help but sigh. Was her best friend always so self centered? How come she never noticed it? She turned her phone off and rolled over, finally being able to get some rest until she wakes up with a loud bang on the door and Lisa walking in full of excitement.  

“Good morning lady. Did you pack your stuff already? Pack warm things, a book or two, some pair of boots and lots of socks. We’re going to the snow. Oh and our flight is in about 5 hours. Hurry up”  

You didn’t know if you wanted to kill Lisa or thank her for being such a light in the middle of the storm going in your head and your heart. The next few hours were a rush. Between preparing things, buying others, organizing documents and being ready in time to go to the airport and checking in. In all this time, Y/n hasn't responded to either Sewoon or Jungkook. It was better this way. It was too much on her plate. A burden she had no need to carry.

After all the stress to get there on time they finally managed to sit down in their seats and recover from all the rush. Y/n wasn't definitely used to all of this. After a bit of silence she turned to Lisa and said  

"Jungkook called and texted me several times last night. And Sewoon too. It made me question the context of her text."  

“what do you mean?” Lisa questioned. 

"Basically she blamed me for ruinning her night with Jungkook after I left the club." Y/n retorded. Lisa opened her mouth but then closed it. Y/n wishes she had said what she was going to say, but instead she questioned "Did you answered any of them?" Y/n shakes her head "Good. These days we will have our phones turned off. No Jungkook, no Sewoon and no worries. Let's just have fun and create some badass memories. Deal?”

Y/n has to make sure that after all this mess gets better, to thank Lisa for everything she's been doing for her. Not that she hasn't already. She's so glad she came back into her life at a time like this. It made her compare Lisa to Sewoon. Where was Sewoon in the most difficult moments of your life?

"Deal"

A bit of sadness hits Y/n. She holds Lisa's hand and mouths "thank you" squeezing it tightly. You are going to get through this, like you managed before but this time with someone who truly cares and you couldn't be more relieved by it

------------------------------

@esposadomd @joonlover1207 @eegyo @furrywonderlandwolf @minghaosimp @differentrunawayperson @nikkinikj @jksusawife @11thenightwemet11 @jk97bam