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live-laugh-lenney · 3 months ago

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temptation | george clarkey

summary; george misses his girlfriend, yn, so the sidemen bring her in during his time on 'inside'... but her visit comes at a cost.

word count; 4.2k

** warnings; slight mention of sex but just some sickening fluff. **

'inside' really re-ignited my love for george, not that i didn't love him enough already, so thank you for that, sidemen. in a real funk for him so this is a little something to bring both my feels and the beauty of george on 'inside' together! let me know what you think. enjoy! x

“Whatever you do, just resist whatever they throw at you.”

“I mean, I don’t really think I should be taking spending advice from the one guy spending the most of our prize money in here,” George taunted playfully, a guilty look spreading across PK’s face that soon broke apart with a cheeky grin before his hands came up in a surrender, acting like the innocent man he was portraying to the cameras yet those around him could just about see right through him, “but that was the plan, my man.”

George shot a playful finger gun in PK’s direction with a wink following suit before he disappeared around the corner of the fake living room, all put together in a studio for the sake of the show, and away from the chatter and the laughter coming from the other housemates. Their conversations becoming distant, almost inaudible mumbles, as he rounded the corner to the Temptation Room and awaited the fate of his next decision. His thoughts raced through his mind because he wasn’t sure what his plan was.

He’d seen the temptation that Whitney had faced, knowing it was one she definitely couldn’t resist, and he’d seen the temptation Jason had accepted, just a day prior to his own moment in the temptation room, that had been something he was passionate about happening.

George really didn’t want to follow suit.

He wanted to resist.

He was going to resist…

… or that’s what he told himself.

He told himself to be strong and to remember that whatever they were going to put before him, he could probably have once he’d left the show. He told himself to ignore what the Sidemen were about to put before him because he knew they were doing it for the content of the show. Yet he had a gut-feeling it was going to be something difficult for him not to be tempted by, and they knew what his weaknesses were, telling himself to think about how the prize pot would be worth splitting if he chose to resist, if he ever had the chance of becoming a finalist.

“Welcome to the Temptation Room, George,” Vik’s voice echoed around the empty room, catching George’s attention as his eyes dodge where the cameras were placed, looking anywhere but the lenses that were filming his every move because he knew he was going to be sussed out, “if you take a look to your left, there’s another door. Resting on top of the doorframe, above your head, is a card which has your temptation in. If you could reach for it and read it out loud.”

“Yes, Vikstar.”

And he did as he was told.

“In the room before you-” George started reading but he caught a glimpse at what was next to come on the card and his words, as well as his breath, caught in his throat, “shut up, you’re joking me?”

“If you could finish what’s written on the card,” Vik warned him gently but there was a hint of a smile in the words that came through the speaker, “please, George.”

“In the room before you is your girlfriend, YN. For thirty thousand pounds of the prize money, you can spend half an hour with her. Do you accept your temptation, George?” He read from the card and he could feel his heart pumping sporadically in his chest, his hands trembling and his legs turning into jelly as he stood before the door, knowing just who was on the other side. “This is a new low, Sidemen.”

“We know you miss her, George. We’ve heard you speak of her a lot whilst you’ve been in here so it wouldn’t be so bad if you accepted it,” Vik said with a hint of mischievous and cheekiness in his tone and George groaned exasperatedly, rolling his head back and letting go of the card, completely dismissing it as it floated to the floor and landed by his feet, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes out of frustration, “she’s made it very clear to us how much she misses you, too.”

“But the final is only a couple of days away and I swore I wouldn’t take this temptation so we could keep the money. The guys back in the house, they thought I was the strongest member who wouldn’t get tempted,” he said, almost as a reminder to himself as he spoke aloud his thoughts, “but, God, I do miss her though. A whole lot. We spend almost every single day together so it’s strange for her not to be in bed when I wake up in the mornings or walking around telling me stupid jokes in the silence. Instead, we have KSI’s hollering to get us out of bed.”

There’s no response to him - part of him wanted Vik to give him some guidance but he knew that was a long shot - and he frowned.

He wanted nothing more than to accept.

When he woke up in the morning, he thought of her routine. Not that he knew the time but he checked off a list that he thought she’d have done by then; made the bed, ate her breakfast, got herself showered and dressed for the day, watched what she missed on television before she started her work day. He thought about what she might have had for lunch, what she might have been planning for dinner, who she was out and about with as she passed the time and filled the void of him not being there.

He missed her small daily updates as she informed him what she was up to. Silly pictures to accompany her tasks, updating him on how she’d bumped into Arthur unexpectedly for lunch or went out for an impromptu pint with Chris because she’d seen him out and about, expressing how she couldn’t wait to come home and have him all to herself because that feeling was always matched and he was never ashamed to tell her how he wanted to a night in with her.

When he went to bed at night, all he could think about was YN. Wondering what she was up to, whether she was asleep or scrolling through TikTok because she couldn’t drift off, knowing she would be frustrated at herself because she liked to be up early so she could plan out her day. He wondered whether she was thinking about him like he was thinking about her, wondering if he was okay like he was wondering if she was okay, wondering if she missed his cuddles and how she wanted nothing more than to be curled up by his side which was a feeling he missed a lot.

His routine had changed, not that he had much of a routine to follow, and having a YN-shaped hole in his life for that week was tough for him to deal with.

“Your radio silence makes this so much easier for me,” George grumbled sarcastically, sitting himself down on the floor and resting his back against the wall beside the door, “I don’t want to spend money because I haven’t spent a lot of money but because I haven’t spent much money in here, it almost feels like it’d be acceptable for me to go ahead and agree.”

He sighed with slight aggravation because the decision that he needed to make had the cogs in his mind working overtime.

“I’m surrounded by strangers here and as nice as they are and as great a conversation they hold, and it’s been nice getting to know them but no-one beats YN and that’s why I’m so stuck. I want some normalcy and the feeling of home, just to feel like I’m in my safe space,” George argued with himself, the back of his head colliding with the wall behind him, “I know she’s in there and I know she would say we only have two days left before we see each other and that it would be a waste this far into the week.”

“What’s your answer, George?”

“I need a moment,” he admitted and, for the first time, he looks into the camera lens and it’s evident he’s torn up over both sides of the decision that he needed to make. His eyebrows are pinched together on his browline, his cheeks are a rosy-pink colour from how heated he was making himself feel over his thoughts, his eyes full of desire to see her yet his mind was telling him a whole something different, “I think-”

He cuts himself off and there’s a smile that twitches his lips.“I think you might want to turn off the cameras because I’ve really missed her and I might not be able to hold back,” he said with cheekiness in every word that rolled off his tongue, “I want to see YN. I need to see her.”

“I accept the temptation, Sidemen,” he said with slight trepidation to the sentence; he was really about to see the one person he’d been craving to see for the last few days and he felt… nervous. Of course he felt nervous. Because he didn’t know how the rest of the house would react to him spending 30k on seeing someone he had a possibility of seeing as soon as the next elimination rolled around but, at the same time and almost blurring the lines between the two, there were excited nerves that were fluttering around his insides because it was his girlfriend he was about to see. “Let me see her, please.”

The lock of the door clicked beside him and it caught his attention from where he was still situated on the floor, a creak soon following as it opened, and he saw her trainers before he saw the rest of her. The Adidas Campus trainers that were coloured an off-white cream and a deep-green, that he always took the mickey out of because the laces were so chunky and made her feet look tiny compared to his own, were matched with baggy jeans and a white t-shirt fitted to her frame that was paired with one of his zip-up hoodies that seemed to swallow her up… yet she still looked comfortable and cosy. And seeing her face was all it took for him to feel all of his emotions flooding through him.

“Are you going to get up and hug me or what?” She wondered and he scoffed out a gentle laugh, his eyes glossing over and he refused to let his tears spill because he didn’t want to be deemed an emotional wreck all over Twitter when the show came out on Netflix, “come on, you silly billy.”

She held her hands out and he took them, without hesitation, pulling himself to his feet and wasting no time in wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to his body, her head slotting nicely underneath his chin, her arms linking around his waist as she gave him a squeeze that the both of them seemed to need in that moment. The first ounce of true happiness he’d felt in five days, the desired touch of the one person he wanted around, breathing in the scent of her perfume. His stresses from the previous few days, and the knowledge of him being on a television show that kept him away for a week, seemed to disappear and, in that moment, it was just the two of them.

In their own little bubble.

And they stood like that for a good few minutes.

Neither one of them wanted to break the silence that surrounded them as they stood together, arms wrapped around each other as they swayed from side to side in the baron room, their rhythmic breathing being the only thing that seemed to fill it.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered into her ear, a tickling sensation coursing down her neck from where his facial hair brushed over her skin. In the five days he’d been unable to groom himself, it had gotten a lot longer than she was used to (not that she was complaining - if someone asked her how she felt, a complaint would be the furthest thing from what she would say, if she was being honest), sending goosebumps down her arms and a shiver down her spine, “so much.”

“I’ve definitely missed you more,” she giggled sweetly and she reluctantly pulled away from him, loosening her arms around his middle and bringing her hands to cup his cheeks in her palms, “the boys have been driving me crazy, you know? They let me stay for the week whilst you’re not there and I have no idea how you put up with them.”

“You learn to drown them out,” he said and tilted his head to the side and into the gentle touch caressing one of his cheeks, “but I’m glad you’ve had some company this week. Even if they are annoying, they mean well.”

“I think they miss you a lot, too,” she informed him, “Chris has been coming to me for advice like he would go to you for. But I don’t know if I can give good advice as someone that isn’t a bloke.”

“Anything can be better than what I tell him,” George snickered and she rolled her eyes, “seriously. You think I tell him what he should do? He goes and does the opposite of what we say, anyway.”

He wrapped his hands around her wrists, pulling them from his face and along with him as he went back to the place he was sitting when she entered the room, the both of them sliding down the wall as they sat beside each other. He bent his knees up, resting his elbows on them and stretching his forearms out, whilst YN stretched out her legs and placed her hands in her lap.

“How are you finding this whole thing?”

“Not as hard as I thought I would,” George said and YN nodded softly as he spoke, a warm smile on her lips as she listened to him tell her everything he wanted to get off his chest, “but I think I’m just struggling to feel a part of something here. Everyone has someone they can go to, like a small group, when things get a bit difficult or when something happens so I just feel like I’m stuck in the middle. I’m friends with everyone here now which I think is helping me but,” he shook his head in denial, “I don’t know how the hell I’m still here. These guys have so much more going for them than me. They’re louder than me, have more of a personality, are definitely going to be shown a lot more than me so I have no idea what the hell I’m still here for.”

“You deserve your place here,” she clarified, “you must be doing something right if you’re two days away from the final day.”

“There are moments during the elimination rounds where I wish it wouldn’t play into my favour but I can’t seem to fail on purpose. I’m so thankful to be here and grateful that the Sidemen asked me to be here but, at the same time, I want to come home. I want to be back where I feel comfortable, in my own bed and my own flat, with my idiot friends and lovely you,” he looked at her and slotted his fingers through hers, holding her hand tightly, “I want to be back with you. I hate not walking into a room and not seeing you sitting on the sofa or waking up next to you in bed and watching you sleep or hearing you sing in the shower or see you making me some breakfast in the mornings, even if it is just some scrambled eggs on toast.”

“It’s not long and we’ll be back doing those small things you love,” she reminded him and her thumb rubbed across his knuckles in a soothing manner, “I can’t wait to watch you on Netflix either. I can’t wait to tell people all over the place that my boyfriend is a Netflix star.”

“A Netflix star may be a bit of a stretch,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “you’ve not told anyone, have you?”

She shook her head.

“I know you and how bad you are at keeping secrets,” he teased and nudged an elbow into her side, and she rolled her eyes in response to him, “reckon I could smuggle you back in there? I don’t think they’ll notice if I sneak you in under my jumper and hide you in my bed.”

“Oh, I reckon they would,” she laughed and he groaned at her answer, rolling his head back and letting it collide softly with the wall, “I was really hoping you wouldn’t accept your temptation, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because it means saying goodbye to you again,” she said, turning on the spot and she sat herself upright so she was facing him, her vision looking down at her lap as her fingers played with the digits on his hands to distract her mind from thinking about the half an hour that was passing too quickly, “I hated it the first time so this one sucks even more.”

It was a night she couldn’t forget, still fresh on her mind, and she could feel the heartache so vividly. As if every time she thought about it, she was reliving that morning.

The morning started off early but slow. They woke up hours before they needed to so they could squeeze in a cuddle in bed, which soon turned into the slowest sex they could make that allowed them to drink in every single emotion in every single moment, holding each other close as if they would disappear if they let go. They showered together, they got ready together, all whilst shedding a few unwarranted tears as they prepared themselves to spend a week without any form of contact. They stretched out breakfast-time which consisted of quick goodbye sex on the counter as they waited for their food to cook and, by the time mid-morning had come by, they’d already squeezed in enough time together to feel satisfied in how they parted ways. His suitcase packed for the week and stood upright at the front door beside his shoes as well as the jacket he was going to wear for his entrance, the two of them holding each other as they whispered their goodbyes to each other.

A morning she was going to need them to relive once he was home so the memory had a positive connection.

“I needed to see you though. As much as I hate saying goodbye, too, I just needed a little boost before the end.”

“I would have done the same though,” she admitted, shrugging nonchalantly and looking up at him, “you have such a strong hold on me, George Clarke.”

“As do you, YN YLN,” he repeated in the same manner, “I couldn’t not say yes knowing you were on the other side of the door. So close to me. I wasn’t going to let the opportunity of holding you and having you next to me pass me by. Some of these guys have accepted theirs and they’ve spent so much more than me through the week. I feel it was an okay choice to make.”

“Spoilers,” she warned him, pointing an accusing finger at him before covering her ears in protest to hearing anything else that she was going to watch in the show when it aired, “don’t tell me anything else, mister.”

Before they knew it, as if no time had passed at all, it was soon time for them to say their goodbyes.

George could feel it in the pit of his stomach, heavy and twisting up into knots that made him feel sick, knowing that it was soon approaching the half an hour mark and he hated how quickly it seemed to go. And YN could feel her emotions building up, with an ache in her throat that made it hard to swallow and a feeling of dread coursing through her that made her feel tense and sad, trying not to look at him in fear that she would crumble on camera.

The door that she had entered opened again and they took that as their cue to stand back to their feet.

“What’s stopping me from walking out with you?”

“You’d be an idiot to do that,” she laughed softly, shaking her head at his bizarre proposition, “you’ve got this far so you need to see this through till the end, you donut.”

His fingers connected with hers, keeping a tight grip on her as if she would walk out that door and never be seen by him again, and his thumbs stroked across the back of her hands. She could feel the shaking of his limbs from the disdain of having to see her walk out and disappear behind the door, and it was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“I love you,” she smiled sweetly, contradicting the tears that had threatened her eyes and had slowly started to dribble down her cheek, “forty-eight hours and you’ll be back with me.”

“It could be less,” he reminded her, bringing his hands up to wipe away the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, “I could see you tomorrow.”

“Be optimistic, mister. You’re going to that final,” she says, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek and she allowed her lips to linger a little longer against the soft curve of his cheek, “I would give you a great big smacker on the lips but Netflix might have to change the rating of the show because I don’t think I can control myself.”

He smirked at her and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

“Yeah, we best not do anything too risqué. We’ll save that for the privacy of the bedroom,” he whispered with an almost growling tone, “I love you.”

“George, YN. I’m afraid your time together is up.”

“Yes, thank you, Vikstar. You don’t need to remind us,” George grumbled to the camera and, as saddened as she was, she giggled at his attitude to the voice that echoed around the room, “I guess this is it.”

“Sadly,” she pouted and neither one of them could take their eyes off each other, “someone’s going to have to pry me away from you, I think. I can’t bring myself to step away.”

“Go on,” he mumbled dejectedly, his eyebrows pinching together, “forty-eight hours to go.”

“I’ll see you on the other side,” she grins, pulling her hands away from his at an agonisingly slow speed, “good luck. I love you.”

“I love you more,” he watches as she steps towards the door.

Deep down, she didn’t want to turn around to look at him and, truthfully, George didn’t think he could handle it if she took one last look at him; he was okay with watching the back of her as she disappeared around the door and, as it slowly closed behind her, he felt his heart plummet to the floor.

As he stepped foot back into the small bubble of Inside, he felt sad yet he seemed to find a new found excitement to finish the show. That one half an hour with her being a pick-me-up, giving him a new lease of happiness, and he was determined to finish. The quicker the time went, the sooner he’d be back with her. The laughter and distant chatter seemed to get closer as he rounded the corner and ascended up the three stairs back into the main area, poking his head around the corner and looking into the room, a timid smile on his lips.

“You didn’t get locked in the room then,” Jason teased as George fell to the sofa and slouched down into the cushions with a grumpy expression on his face, “what was it? What happened?”

“Uhm,” he coughed into his fist to clear his throat, as well as to drag out the moment for dramatic anticipation for those around him and for those who would be watching when it was released to the world, “so, they uh- they tempted me with YN.”

“Oh, no way! Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, “I couldn’t resist saying no so I took it. I had to see her. I needed to see her.”

“I think I’d have done the same if it was my partner,” Milli-Jo said, sitting beside George and resting her hand on his shoulder and rubbing it soothingly, “I don’t think anyone is going to be crazy mad at you for giving in. It happened last season, it was bound to happen this season. We should have seen it coming, truthfully.”

“I think I just needed to feel a sense of home. My normal life,” he admitted, guilt soaring through his veins at how the entirety of the room was watching him as he explained his reasoning, “she gets me through a lot, always has done since I’ve known her, so there was no way I was passing the opportunity. I thought about it but,” he shrugged, “I don’t think I’d have been happy walking out of that room if I turned it down.”

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lecl1ercswif7ie · 2 months ago

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I Care Buck

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ! The New Avengers x Reader

Summary: After your first mission you tell Bucky to blowout his hair with your Dyson - The rest of The Avengers are shocked he doesn't oppose.

Author's Note: This is my first fic, i'm sorry if it's a bit weird, english is not my first languange and i'm kind of nervous of writing here 🙈 Enjoy the fic!!

Mission complete.

If you could call “barely surviving a shootout, a crumbling building, and Walker setting off the wrong grenade” a mission success. Still, somehow, no one was dead. That was a win for the New Avengers.

Back at HQ, the vibe was what you’d expect from a barely-functional team of chaos gremlins.

Ava and John were already at it again, arguing over tactical choices like they hadn’t just spent the last six hours screaming into comms.

“I’m telling you,” John said, arms waving, “you rushed the flank too early!”

Ava raised her eyebrows and bit out, “I rushed the flank because you set off the charge early, you toddler in a bulletproof vest!”

“Idiots,” Yelena muttered, flopping on the worn-out couch and covering her eyes with her arm, “please shut up. Some of us are trying to disassociate in peace.”

Bob sat nearby, legs crossed, calmly reading a thick novel. He was somehow the calmest man in the building — maybe in the world. “Let them bicker,” he murmured, not looking up. “It’s almost rhythmic now. Like jazz.”

You snorted from your corner. Bucky was standing silently nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the far wall like he didn’t want to admit he was tired. His dark hair was tousled, sticking out from where it had been flattened by his mask and ruffled by wind and debris. He looked… adorable.

But he also looked like he’d walked through a wind tunnel.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling and walked over, Dyson Supersonic in hand.

“Okay, soldier,” you said, pointing to the stool near the table. “Sit.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Your hair,” you said. “It looks like a bird tried to nest in it. I’m fixing it.”

“You’re gonna use… that thing?” he said warily, eyeing the Dyson like it might explode.

You grinned. “Relax. You’ve fought alien warlords. You can survive a blow dryer.”

A snort escaped him. And then — miraculously — he sat. You plugged the Dyson in, brushed your fingers through his damp hair, and got to work.

—

About five minutes in, Bob looked up from his book and said, “He’s letting her do his hair. It’s happening.”

Yelena didn’t even open her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“The slow-burn,” Bob replied, turning the page. “They’re finally getting there.”

Alexei popped his head in from the kitchen. “What are we betting? I say they kiss before next mission.”

“No way,” Ava said, arms crossed. “Barnes is emotionally repressed and Y/N’s too polite.”

John laughed. “$10 says it happens by the end of the week.”

“$20,” Bob added, “if they don’t even notice they’re basically dating already.”

You ignored them all. Mostly. Your fingers were threading through Bucky’s hair, drying and smoothing it as you guided the Dyson gently. He looked… relaxed. Kind of. Except when his metal hand kept twitching every time you got a little too close to his ear.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He grunted, “Yeah. Just… not used to people touching me like this.”

“Like how?”

“Like they care.”

You looked at him, your hand still in his hair. “I care, Buck.”

His eyes met yours then — and you swore your heart skipped.

From the couch, Yelena groaned loudly. “Oh my god, would you two just kiss already?!”

You flushed. Bucky cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I feel like a stray puppy right now.”

“Yeah, well,” you smirked, “you’re a cute one.”

—

Later that night, the HQ was quieter. Ava and John had gone off somewhere to probably yell at each other in private. Yelena was asleep on the couch, Bob was still reading, and Alexei was snoring in the recliner.

You were in the bathroom with Bucky, showing him how to use the Dyson properly. He watched you with that same intense stare he always had — like he was memorizing everything.

“Okay, see the cool shot button?” you explained. “Locks the style in place.”

He pressed it. A little too hard. The blast of cold air surprised him and he jumped slightly.

You giggled. “Scary, huh?”

“Not scared,” he grumbled. “Just… surprised.”

“Mmhm.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Thanks for doing this.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Anytime.”

His hand caught yours as you went to pull away — metal fingers warm from the dryer, his grip gentle but steady.

“You know,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “I don’t let just anyone near my hair.”

Your breath hitched. “Good thing I’m not just anyone, then.”

There was a beat.

You both leaned in slightly—

And from the hallway: “If you’re not kissing, then at least make popcorn!” Alexei yelled. “Some of us are invested in the subplot!”

You and Bucky broke apart, laughing quietly.

“Stray puppy, huh?” you teased.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips.

“Only if you’re the one taking me home.”

kinda nervous to post this haha, i tried my best okay? but i think i made justice to the whole new team with unstable people trying to live togethere

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neonbonded · 5 days ago

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Practicing the Reveal… And He Overhears It

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: surprise pregnancy, emotional overload, soft domesticity, intense future-dad energy, crying (from both of you probably) ♡ a/n: it was just a quiet moment. a mirror, a whisper, a practice run. you never thought he’d hear it. but he does. and suddenly the man who’s always had the answers… doesn’t. he stares at you like you just rewrote the stars—like you handed him a universe he never believed he could have. just something a bit shorter i thought of quickly on the plane.

Caleb

You’d been holding onto the test for days. Hidden behind the tea tins in the kitchen, tucked into the box of your old journals. Not because you were scared. But because you wanted it to be perfect.

Caleb had been stretched thin lately—Fleet rotations, drills, calls from the UNICORN command deck at ungodly hours. And still, he always smiled at you like you were the only person on the planet who mattered.

You didn’t want to overload him. So instead, you practiced.

Standing in front of the hallway mirror in one of his oversized T-shirts, bare feet on the cold tile, you ran through your lines again.

“So, remember how you said we should wait until we’re more ‘settled’?” “...We’re gonna need to clear a second drawer in the dresser.” “Do you think our kid would have your eyes or mine?”

You pause. Breathe out slowly. Then—

“Hey, Caleb?” you say softly to your reflection. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

You smile shyly at yourself.

Then you hear it.

The sound of something dropping—soft, like a jacket hitting the ground.

You whip around.

He’s there. Standing in the hallway. Still wearing his flight jacket, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Just... frozen.

“…What did you just say?” His voice is hoarse. Disbelieving.

You go stock-still. “Caleb—wait, I—”

He crosses the space between you in two long strides, cupping your face in his hands like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

“You’re serious?” he whispers. “You’re really…? You’re actually—?”

You nod.

For one breathless second, he just stares at you—eyes brimming. Then:

“I’m gonna be a dad?” he blurts, like the concept is too big to fit in his chest. “Me? I—we—holy shit—I’m gonna be a dad—”

He laughs through a choked-off sob, pressing frantic kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips.

Then he’s pulling you into his arms so tightly your feet lift off the floor, spinning you in the middle of the hallway as if he has nowhere else to go but here—this moment, this joy, this forever.

When he finally sets you down, he presses his forehead to yours, completely breathless.

“I swear to you,” he says, voice breaking, “I’m gonna be the best dad in the whole goddamn galaxy.”

And then, softer:

“Thank you. For making me the luckiest man alive. Again.”

Xavier

It’s been a rare stretch of stillness. No alarms. No missions. No glowing swords by the front door. Just you, Xavier, and the quiet rhythm of living together.

Tonight, he’s fast asleep on the couch—curled up with a book still resting on his chest, one arm draped lazily where you’d been sitting. He looked too peaceful to wake.

So you tiptoe to the bathroom, holding the little folded note you’d written earlier that day.

You read it softly to your reflection in the mirror—voice barely above a whisper:

“Hey… I know this probably isn’t how you imagined hearing it, but—” “—you’re going to be a father.”

You pause. Swallow. Try again.

“We made a new little light. It’s… real. He or she is already glowing inside me.”

You smile nervously at your own reflection.

“And I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

You freeze when you hear it

A soft knock. Followed by the sound of your name, tentative and low.

You turn slowly—he’s in the doorway, barefoot and wide-eyed, hair still sleep-mussed. He’s holding the edge of the doorframe like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“…Did I just hear you say…?” His voice is hushed. Fragile.

Your breath catches. You nod.

He doesn’t speak. Not for a full ten seconds. Just stares at you—like he’s trying to etch the moment into memory.

Then finally, he crosses the room and sinks to his knees in front of you. Gently, reverently, he presses his forehead to your stomach. His hands tremble slightly where they rest on your thighs.

“This is…” he murmurs, voice catching, “...the kind of miracle I never let myself hope for.”

You thread your fingers through his hair. He looks up at you, and he’s smiling—but his lashes are wet.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “But I want to. With you.”

And when he rises and kisses you—slow, soft, like you’re something sacred—you realize he’s still processing, still stunned.

But beneath that? He’s glowing.

Rafayel

You had waited until he was out back painting on the cliff edge—headphones in, shirtless, covered in streaks of indigo and gold. His art trance could last hours.

So you snuck into his studio.

The sunlight hit the floor like water. The room smelled like sea salt and oil paints. And there you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a folded-up sketchbook page clutched in your hands.

“So…” you said to your reflection, smiling nervously. “I know we said ‘not yet.’ But um… turns out ‘yet’ is now.”

You pause. Swallow.

“You’re going to be a dad.”

You whisper it. Just once. And for a second, it feels real in the best, scariest way.

Then...

“...I’m going to be a what?”

You freeze.

He’s behind you in the doorway—barefoot, still holding a paintbrush, lips parted like he isn’t sure he actually heard you right.

“Say that again,” he says, softly. “Please.”

You whip around. “Raf—wait—I didn’t mean for you to—”

He walks in slowly. The brush falls from his fingers, forgotten. He reaches out, fingertips brushing the paper in your hand like it’s made of glass.

“You’re not joking, are you?” he asks. “You wouldn’t do that to me. You wouldn’t…”

He trails off. Breath caught.

You shake your head. “I’m not joking.”

Silence. One second. Two.

Then he cracks.

The grin splits across his face like a sunrise, wild and stunned and full of something bigger than joy. His hands grab your waist, lift you clean off the floor—and he’s laughing. Gasping.

“I—! Holy shit—I MADE SOMETHING WITH YOU THAT WASN’T A MESS!”

He kisses you like you’re both a sunrise and a masterpiece—soft, shaky, endless. Then, quieter, pressing his forehead to yours:

“I can’t believe I’m going to get to teach someone how to make terrible jokes and beautiful chaos.”

Then he slides to his knees, presses his cheek to your stomach, and whispers in Lemurian:

“I love you already, little fish.”

Zayne

The house is quiet.

Zayne’s been in the study for hours—medical articles spread across the desk, old records murmuring from the speakers like white noise. You’d meant to go in and ask what he wanted for dinner.

Instead… you found yourself in the mirror. Holding a note you’d written for him days ago. You just needed to practice saying it out loud.

“I know we said not until things slow down,” you whisper. “But… maybe life had other plans.”

You pause. Then say it slowly:

“You’re going to be a father.”

The words feel strange and huge. Like trying to name a star.

You don’t notice the soft click of the door behind you.

Zayne’s voice cuts through the stillness. Low. Careful.

“...What did you just say?”

You turn.

He’s standing in the doorway with his wire-frame glasses still on, fingers curled slightly at his sides. There’s something unreadable in his eyes—tension, awe, disbelief all braided together.

“I—” you start, heart thudding. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that. I was just—practicing.”

“So it’s… real?” he asks. Voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head. “It’s real.”

His eyes drop slightly—to your stomach. Then back up to your face.

He doesn’t move for a long, long moment. You see him run the calculations, review the mental charts, search for a breath.

But none of that matters now.

He crosses the room slowly, carefully, and takes both of your hands. His grip is warm, steady—but trembling at the edges.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs. “I’ve held thousands of hearts in my hands. But this…”

His throat tightens. He exhales hard. Then carefully lowers to his knees.

He presses his cheek gently against your belly.

“This is the most terrifying and miraculous thing I’ve ever been trusted with.”

And then, softer:

“You’re not alone in this. Ever.”

You run your fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes, holding your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of your future.

Sylus

You thought he was out late.

Protocore deal. Something classified and criminally vague. You’d texted him goodnight hours ago and assumed he’d stay gone until morning.

So you’re in his hoodie, curled up on the couch, holding a tiny plushie you bought earlier that day on impulse—a blue stuffed crow, with little red eyes.

You glance toward the bedroom mirror and whisper softly, just testing the words

“You’re going to be a dad.”

You hug the crow closer to your chest. Try again.

“I know that probably sounds… impossible. But it’s happening. We’re happening.”

Your voice wavers. You smile to yourself, imagining his face. His reaction.

“I’m scared too,” you admit quietly. “But if anyone can protect this kid—it’s you.”

“...Wow.”

You jolt upright, spinning around.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s still buffering.

“Sylus—I didn’t—how long have you been—?”

“Long enough,” he murmurs. “Long enough to think you were rehearsing lines for a drama. But now…”

He steps into the room slowly, almost cautiously.

“You’re serious.” “You’re actually…?” “You and me and… a kid?”

You nod. Gulp. “I just—I wanted to tell you right, I didn’t want to drop it on you after work, and—”

He tosses the jacket aside and crosses the room in three fast strides, pulling you into his arms so hard your breath leaves you.

“You are never allowed to tell me something like that while wearing my hoodie and holding a crow plush again,” he mutters into your neck. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Sorry?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just tightens his arms around you.

“...I didn’t think I’d get this,” he whispers.

You blink.

“I knew how to lead, how to protect, how to hurt. But this? Family?” “I didn’t think I was allowed to have something this good.”

Then he pulls back—just far enough to rest a hand over your stomach.

And you swear, even in the low light, he’s shaking.

“No one touches either of you without going through me,” he says, soft and deadly. “Got it?”

“This kid is going to grow up knowing exactly what it means to be loved.”

And then—he kisses you like you’re the only real thing left in the world.

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blondechariot · 2 days ago

Note

poly sajaboys x reader but with that scene where they were signing everyone's stuff ? maybe with a bit of tension but up to you !!

pairing: Saja Boys x Hunter!Idol!reader

warnings: Flirtatious teasing & romantic tension Competitive behavior, Mild jealousy, Slight power play dynamics, Crowd setting, Blushing, embarrassment, flustering

disclaimer: not my pic!

I tried to include shipping names with y/n and it was very difficult so be gentle hahaha

The fan sign was already chaos.

Not the bad kind — no, this was the kind of chaos that made your pulse race in the best way. You sat at a long, glitzy table with five devastatingly attractive men beside you — five men who also happened to be demons, your closest allies, and... complications in the form of sweatpants, cologne, and smirking mouths.

Your hands were sore from signing albums, your smile worn but genuine. The fan chants had barely died down between interactions, and the energy in the room was electric. Fans were decked out in glowing headbands, face paint, and custom slogan banners — and more than once, you caught glimpses of your face next to one of the Saja Boys on cardboard hearts or glossy posters.

You were too distracted to care… until one fan stepped up with a giant sign that made your stomach drop.

“WHAT’S YOUR FAV SHIP? 👀 YINU? MYSTERYN? BABYN? ROMANYN? ABBYN??!”

You blinked.

And the boys noticed.

Abby leaned closer, glancing at the sign and then at you, a slow grin creeping over his face. “Well well well…” he purred, voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t know we had an official ship war going on.”

Romance let out a low whistle. “They really gave us couple names, huh? I like that. Very K-drama of them.”

Mystery, who had been relatively quiet up until now, tilted his head toward you. “So, Y/N,” he said smoothly, “which ship do you think sounds the best? I think ‘Mysteryn’ rolls off the tongue quite nicely. Has a dark, seductive flair, doesn’t it?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving your hand. “Guys, come on—don’t start this—”

But Baby had already perked up, lips in a mischievous pout. “Why am I always the cute ship? ‘Babyn’ sounds like a damn plush toy.” He leaned across the table, chin resting in his palm as he looked you over. “Should’ve known they’d ship us though. You did call me pretty on that radio show last week.”

Romance narrowed his eyes. “Hold up. You called him pretty?”

“Don’t sound so offended,” you mumbled, already regretting every decision that led to this moment.

Jinu, who’d been casually sipping a coffee from a fan, set it down slowly. His tone was deceptively mild. “You told Baby he was pretty... but you told me I looked ‘intimidatingly hot.’” He turned that gaze on you — all fire and quiet danger. “Was that just fan service?”

Your breath caught.

The fans, oblivious to the rising tension, were eating it up. Some were even chanting shipping names now. And the worst part?

The boys loved it.

Abby leaned toward the mic and said with mock seriousness, “Personally, I think ‘Abbyn’ is the superior ship name. It's bold. Strong. Sexy. Like us.”

“Oh please,” Romance scoffed, nudging Abby. “Romanyn is obviously the most romantic. It has aesthetic. Even our fans draw us in couples’ shoots.”

“Because you pose like a damn perfume commercial every time Y/N looks at you,” Baby muttered.

Mystery simply smiled, cool and unreadable. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Baby.”

“I’m not jealous—”

“You sound jealous,” Abby added, winking at you. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll still sign your name with a heart.”

Your face was burning. The fans were laughing and gasping, some even screaming.

You tried to speak, but Jinu’s voice cut through the noise, lower now, directed only at you.

“I don’t care about names,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “I care about what you want.”

Everything paused.

The table. The crowd. The noise.

Romance was the first to break the silence, his voice dropping into something more intimate. “Do you want us to stop, Y/N?” he asked quietly, fingers brushing close to yours across the table. “Or are you… enjoying this a little too much?”

You glanced at his hand. You should have pulled away. But your hand stayed.

And that’s when Mystery reached for the mic again and spoke with quiet menace, “We’re not teasing her. We’re claiming her. Don’t get it twisted.”

Baby’s eyes gleamed. “Or maybe she’s the one who owns us. Ever think of that?”

“God, you’re such a brat,” Abby muttered under his breath, sitting back in his chair with an exasperated grin. “She totally plays favorites.”

“I do not!” you blurted.

Five heads turned.

Five pairs of eyes — each so different in color and intensity — locked onto you like you were prey in the middle of a warzone.

“So you admit,” Jinu said slowly, “that you’ve thought about who your favorite would be.”

You froze.

“Answer carefully,” Mystery murmured.

“She’s blushing,” Romance said with a smirk.

“I knew she liked the attention,” Baby chimed in, practically bouncing in his seat.

“I will walk off this stage,” you warned, voice an octave too high.

Abby leaned in, eyes gleaming. “No you won’t.”

And he was right. You stayed seated, cheeks flaming, while the boys continued to battle it out with teasing smiles and veiled flirtation — signing albums for squealing fans while not once taking their eyes off you. The air around you was hot, charged, a mixture of electricity and tension that left you dizzy.

As the last fan approached the table, handing over a final sign that read:

"No matter the ship, she's ours."

The boys went silent.

And then Jinu signed it with a bold flourish — before sliding the marker across the table to you. His voice was soft but serious.

“Want to add your name to that?”

You hesitated, the weight of the moment finally settling on your shoulders — five demons, five dangerous hearts, and one very public stage.

But you smiled.

And added your signature with a soft little heart.

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formulafanfics13 · 2 days ago

Note

whenever you have time to get around to it, an oscar x gf!reader where logan is the constant and perpetual third wheel. like the audio that goes “this is my boyfriend jared, this is jared’s boyfriend ben”

This Is My Boyfriend Oscar, This Is Oscar’s Boyfriend Logan

Masterlist

Summary: Dating Oscar Piastri is soft, sweet, and perfect — until you realize his other soulmate is Logan Sargeant. The man is always there. Third-wheeling your dates, stealing your popcorn, crashing your hotel room like it’s his own. You try to hate it. But Logan’s too dumb and loyal to stay mad at, and Oscar’s too smug to pretend it’s not hilarious. Welcome to your trio era: this is your boyfriend Oscar… and this is Oscar’s boyfriend Logan.

Warnings: crackfic, fluff, modern F1 setting, established relationship, third wheel Logan Sargeant, chaotic trio dynamic, meme references, dumb TikTok humor, reader is done with the bullshit but also lowkey loves it, Oscar is sweet and smug, Logan is emotionally loyal but physically intrusive, soft moments get ruined, paddock chaos, meme audio “this is my boyfriend Derek / this is Derek’s boyfriend Ben”, no smut just stupidity and affection

You knew from the start it was going to be a problem. Oscar was soft. Oscar was sweet. Oscar loved his friends.

And Logan? Logan fucking lived in Oscar’s pocket.

Not literally, obviously, but sometimes it really felt like it. They were always texting. Always gaming. Always shoulder-checking each other in the paddock like overgrown toddlers in race suits. And you could handle that.

Until Logan became your shadow too.

You’d been dating Oscar for five months. He officially asked you out in a McLaren hoodie and wet hair, holding a smoothie and smiling like a boy with a secret. You kissed him before he finished the sentence. It was perfect. He was perfect.

And for the first three weeks, it was heaven. Coffees on balconies. Lazy Monaco evenings. Oscar falling asleep mid-movie with his hand on your thigh and his hoodie bunched behind your head like a pillow.

And then. Week four. You opened the door to his apartment for your planned Friday night in. And there he was.

Logan fucking Sargeant.

Shoes off. Socks mismatched. Shirt half-tucked. Making popcorn in Oscar’s kitchen like he lived there. “Oh,” he said brightly, “did you bring the chocolate ice cream? We’re doing both.”

You blinked.

Oscar appeared behind him. “I told Logan he could join,” he said, sheepishly.

You stared. Then you dropped your keys in the bowl, stepped over Logan’s bag, and said, “I get the middle seat.”

You thought it would be an isolated thing. One night. One movie. One Logan.

Nope.

You had a picnic in the park. Logan came. You had a McLaren gala dinner. Logan drove you there.

You tried to get soft launch couple photos in Paris. Guess who photo-bombed three out of five of them with a baguette in his mouth and sunglasses crooked across his nose?

He didn’t even apologise.

The worst part is that you actually like him. He’s loud. He’s ridiculous. He eats the middle part of sandwiches first and quotes TikToks at inopportune moments and once made a joke about Max Verstappen and anime that sent you into a thirty-minute cackle spiral.

But also? He’s weirdly loyal. When you were sick in Austria, he showed up with soup and every single medication the paddock medical staff would let him legally take.

When Oscar had a bad quali, Logan stood outside the media pen with you like an anxious golden retriever, pacing and muttering, “I’ll beat the shit out of the car myself.”

And when you cried during a stupid sad commercial once, he handed you a tissue and said, “I cried at that one too.”

He means well. He’s just… there. All the time.

At Silverstone, it hits a breaking point. You and Oscar are trying to have a moment. Truly. Sincerely. A moment.

The sun is setting. The gravel is warm. Oscar is brushing his fingers over the back of your hand and saying something really sweet about how you make him feel calmer on race weekends.

And then, “Hey, lovebirds!” Logan’s voice rings out. “Toto says they’ve got extra doughnuts in hospitality!”

You close your eyes. Oscar winces. Then laughs.

You look at him. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Oscar wraps his arm around you and kisses your cheek. Then, grinning like the smug bastard he is, he says, “This is my girlfriend Y/N. This is my boyfriend Logan.”

You snort so hard it echoes.

It becomes a thing.

At Spa, you post a selfie with both of them captioned, “my boyfriend and his boyfriend ❤️”

At Monza, Logan introduces you to Carlos as “Oscar’s second partner”

At Suzuka, someone makes a meme edit of the three of you with the Derek-Ben audio dubbed over slow-mo clips of the podium and you nearly crash your phone laughing.

Logan comments: “accuracy 🫡”

Eventually, it evens out. You start calling him your platonic boyfriend. He starts bringing you both snacks when Oscar has media. Oscar kisses both of your cheeks before race briefings just to be annoying.

He’s not always there. Just… most of the time. And honestly? You don’t mind.

Because every time you kiss Oscar, Logan looks smug and says, “Finally. Parents are back together.”

And you flip him off with one hand while holding Oscar’s with the other. Perfect balance. Just like the universe intended.

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pink-petal-horns · 13 days ago

Text

Ice Cream Melt

Frank Castle x Bratty!Fem!Reader

(Smut, Heatwave, Motel Room, Boardwalk Tension)

"It's melting" you said, voice sweet and teasing. "Guess you'll have to lick it off."

“You’re quiet.”

Frank grunted.

Which wasn’t much of a response, but you’d gotten pretty good at reading his caveman cues. That little grunt was probably meant to mean ‘Yeah, I know it’s hot,’ or ‘If I say one more word I might explode,’ or ‘Don’t push me.’ Maybe all three.

You kicked your flip-flop at him, lightly, watching it hit his boot with a soft slap.

He didn’t look.

“Frank. I’m literally dying.”

“It’s eighty-six degrees.”

“Okay, Mr. Fahrenheit. It’s hot, I’m sticky, and you promised me ice cream.”

“Didn’t promise.”

“You nodded.”

He glanced at you, finally. His eyes were dark under the shadow of his ballcap, one eyebrow twitching like he was fighting a smile.

You pouted—extra bratty. “C’mon, please? I’ve been good. You made me sit through your weirdo pawn shop deal. And the hardware store. And the gas station that smelled like death.”

“You talk like you’re five.”

You leaned in closer, bare legs brushing against his cargo pants in the car. “Five-year-olds don’t suck your dick in motel showers.”

Frank’s hand clenched on the steering wheel.

You smirked.

“…That’s what I thought.”

—

Fifteen minutes later, you were on the boardwalk with a waffle cone in your hand and triumph in your heart. Frank was trailing behind you with a bottle of water and a plastic bag from a place that sold fake sunglasses and T-shirts that said I Licked It So It’s Mine.

You really should’ve made him wear one.

The heat was thick, hazy—pressing down on your shoulders, making your thighs stick together in your cutoff shorts. Your ice cream was dripping down the cone faster than you could keep up.

You slowed down, sucking at the top, trying to keep it from turning into soup.

Frank was eyeing you.

“What?” you licked a slow circle around the rim. “You want a bite?”

He looked like he might combust.

You’d done it on purpose—picked the messiest thing on the menu, a double scoop of chocolate-peanut butter swirl with caramel drizzle. It was melting faster than you could eat it.

Dripped on your fingers. Your wrist. Your chest.

“Oh no.” You stopped dramatically, looking down.

Your tank top had a sticky brown trail right between your boobs. You looked up at him with wide eyes.

Frank was glaring at it like he wanted to punch the ice cream to death.

You licked your thumb slowly, then sucked the rest off your finger, watching him.

“I told you it’s hot,” you said innocently. “Guess we should head back to the motel…”

He didn’t answer.

He just grabbed your wrist and steered you off the boardwalk like a man possessed.

—

The second the motel door clicked behind you, Frank’s mouth was on yours.

His kiss was deep, punishing—hotter than the weather, hungrier than it should’ve been for a day that started with errands and ended in heatstroke. You dropped the empty cone in the trash and yanked his shirt.

His hands slid under your thighs and lifted you like nothing. You yelped, arms looping around his neck as he carried you to the bed and dropped you onto it—not gently.

“Frank!”

“You think you’re funny, huh?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You grinned. “I think I’m melting.”

He grabbed your chin between two fingers. “You’re a fuckin’ brat.”

“And you’re obsessed with it.”

Frank kissed you again—messy this time, teeth catching on your lower lip, tongue demanding. He pressed his knee between your thighs and ground it there, making you moan against his mouth.

“You planned that shit,” he muttered. “Knew what you were doing.”

You gave him a faux innocent look. “Just wanted a treat.”

Frank’s eyes dropped to your chest, where the stain still clung to your tank. He grabbed the hem and yanked it off, revealing sticky skin and your favorite no-bra day. His eyes darkened.

“Ice cream melts,” you said, sweetly.

“Yeah,” Frank growled, “and I’m gonna lick off every fuckin’ drop.”

—

He started at your collarbone.

His tongue was hot, slow, tracing the trail of caramel down between your breasts. He sucked at the skin there, just hard enough to bruise, and you squirmed underneath him.

“Stay still.”

“You want me to stay still while you do that?”

Frank didn’t answer. Just dragged his mouth lower, over the curve of your breast, then to the other, licking, biting, worshiping.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “Frank—”

His hands pinned your hips, fingers rough on your waist. You were sticky everywhere, heat radiating between your legs, and the motel AC was barely doing its job. You could feel your pulse in every part of you.

“You like actin’ like a little tease in public,” Frank said, voice rough against your skin. “But you forget what happens after.”

“I never forget.” You bit your lip. “I just like the consequences.”

That did it.

He yanked your shorts down, your panties with them, exposing your wetness to the warm motel air. You tried to squeeze your thighs together, but he was already between them—mouth hot and unforgiving.

Your back arched. “Shit—Frank—!”

His tongue moved like he had all day. No rush, no mercy. He licked through your folds, teasing your clit, then dragged his mouth lower to suck everything you gave him.

You tugged his hair. “Please.”

“What?” he asked against your skin. “Didn’t hear that.”

“Frank, please—”

He shoved two fingers inside you, and your hips jolted. You cried out, trying to ride them, but he held you down with one heavy arm across your waist.

He curled his fingers, hit the spot, and then flattened his tongue against your clit until you saw white.

“Frank—!”

Your orgasm ripped through you like heat lightning. Sudden, electric, and impossible to ignore.

He didn’t stop.

Not until you were trembling, hips jerking, hands in his hair and tears prickling at your lashes.

—

When he finally kissed you again, his mouth tasted like sugar and sin.

You were boneless beneath him, chest sticky, thighs soaked, but it wasn’t enough.

You wanted more.

“Want you,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” His voice was rougher now. “Want me to fuck you stupid, right?”

You nodded. “You always do.”

Frank growled, low and dangerous. He didn’t even fully undress—just shoved his pants low enough to free himself, grabbed your thighs, and pulled you back to the edge of the bed.

He didn’t ease in.

He slammed into you.

You gasped, nails clawing at his forearms as he set a brutal pace—deep, hard, relentless. The bed creaked under you both. The cheap motel lamp flickered. And all you could do was take it.

“You like makin’ a mess,” Frank grunted, fucking you harder. “Like makin’ me crazy.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “It’s the best part.”

“Yeah?” His hand snuck down, thumb rubbing fast circles over your clit. “Then come for me again. Wanna feel you.”

Your moan was ragged, high-pitched.

“Come on, baby. So fuckin’ good when you come.”

You did.

Right there, clenched around him, seeing stars behind your eyelids as your body shook under his. You were loud. You knew it. And Frank didn’t care.

He chased his release like a man possessed—slammed into you one last time, held you still, and groaned into your neck as he came hard, spilling into you with a heat that rivaled the weather.

—

You both collapsed.

Sweaty, ruined, and still somehow a little sticky.

Frank ran a hand through his hair. “You’re a menace.”

You curled up against his side, smug. “You love me.”

He kissed your shoulder.

Didn’t say it, but you knew.

Then you turned your head toward him and whispered: “So… do I get more ice cream tomorrow?”

Frank groaned. “You’re gonna kill me.”

#frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfic #ice cream drabble #frank castle fandom #tumblr fic #jon bernthal x reader #summer fanfic #reader insert #Boardwalk vibes #heatwave chaos #enemies to lovers #mature themes

174 notes · View notes

nuelles · 17 days ago

Text

Taken, Thanks || Spencer Agnew

Summary: Being Ian Hecox’s assistant means wrangling calendars, dodging glitter explosions, and putting out fires—metaphorical and otherwise. But when a smarmy investor starts flirting a little too hard, Spencer finds himself stepping in with soft, possessive boyfriend energy. Add some cast-wide chaos and Ian’s deadpan justice? You’re in for a hell of a Tuesday. (Yes, Spencer still wins. No, Bradley never stood a chance.)

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x f!reader

Tropes: Protective boyfriend, Jealous but respectful, Chaos Cast Support

Warnings: Mild workplace harassment (non-physical flirting, inappropriate persistence by a male investor toward the reader), Swearing & sarcasm (light/moderate), Fluff, light comedy, mild secondhand embarrassment

WC: 2.6K

Author's Note: Not a lot of Spencer in this one lol, but I might make this a mini series, might not, we will see.

You were halfway through color-coding Ian’s week when the glass door opened, and your day instantly worsened.

He walked in like he’d been practicing it: smooth gait, tailored navy blazer, no visible socks. The kind of guy who wore a watch specifically to show off that he didn’t need a smartwatch to stay on top of things—he had people for that. And apparently, today? You were one of them.

“Hi there,” he said, flashing teeth so white they were probably copyrighted. “You must be the one who keeps the circus from catching fire.”

You didn’t even look up from your monitor. “That’s the goal.”

He leaned a forearm on your desk like this was a sales convention and not a functioning content studio. “I’m Bradley. Strategic investments. Ian said I should ‘shadow the workflow’ today, but I’m really just here to see the talent in action.”

You finally looked up. “You’ll want the bullpen, then. Back hallway, third left.”

“Oh, I’m in no rush,” he said smoothly, eyes sweeping your desk. “Besides… I think I already found the real star.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, but needed to stay professional, so all you did was blink at him. “That line works on other assistants?”

He chuckled. “You’re funny. And quick. A deadly combo.”

“I prefer ‘highly scheduled and politely impatient.’”

He laughed again—too loud, too rehearsed. “What’s your name?”

You gave it. You couldn’t come up with a good and professional reason not to. And you regretted it instantly.

Mistake #1: Eye contact.

Mistake #2: Letting him know you had a name.

“Well, Y/N,” he said, drawing out the syllables like he’d invented them. “Have you ever considered scaling your role? With your skill set, I could see you running entire teams.”

“I’m already running one,” you said, tapping your tablet. “Smosh.”

“Touché,” he said, unbothered. “But if you’re ever looking for a more… refined environment—one with perks, bonuses, corner offices—I’d be happy to discuss it. Maybe over lunch?”

There it was. The smile. The lean. The casual, calculated suggestion. ugh

You didn’t flinch. “Thanks, but I’m happy where I am. Especially with my boyfriend dropping off coffee and cat memes every morning.”

Bradley raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” You smiled tightly. “Big fan of hoodies. Great jawline. Plays weird little games for a living.”

He tilted his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t like the answer to. “So… he’s talent?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re not worried about mixing business and pleasure?”

You tilted your head right back. “Not when the business respects me. And the pleasure has manners.”

A flicker passed across his face—too quick to call offense, too practiced to be real. But you saw it.

He gave a tight smile. “Point taken. But if you ever change your mind…”

You didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t plan to.”

You didn’t even have to say anything. By hour two, the entire cast and crew had clocked Bradley’s vibe—and they were not impressed.

Courtney popped her head into the hallway just as Bradley leaned over your desk for the third time that hour.

“Wow,” she said loudly, “do investor bros always hover, or is this a custom feature?”

Bradley straightened, flashing a smile. “Just taking an interest in the workflow. You all run a tight ship.”

Courtney looked at you. You gave her your best please don’t commit violence face.

She raised both hands and walked off muttering, “Tight ship, my ass.”

Next came Damien.

You were trying to update the equipment checklist on your tablet when he strolled by, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying a prop flaming sword over his shoulder.

He paused.

Squinted at Bradley.

Turned to you and asked, “Is this guy bothering you?”

You didn’t look up. “I’m fine.” You were getting good at ignoring the man's—the boys'—presence.

He pointed the sword at Bradley and said, “Just say the word, and he gets a two-minute head start.”

Bradley blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Damien grinned. “Oh, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Bradley scurried off—temporarily, at least.

You sighed and leaned your head against the wall.

A few minutes later, Shayne appeared at your desk, holding two LaCroix cans like peace offerings.

He handed one over. “So. Our new corporate overlord is gross.”

“I’m handling it,” you muttered, cracking the can open.

“I know,” Shayne said. “You’re doing great. But also—if you want me to spill something on him accidentally, I’m clumsy.”

You arched a brow. “Are you offering me… a staged workplace soda accident?”

“Two,” he said, holding up his other can. “One for the shoes, one for the watch.”

You laughed, finally—short and sharp. “Tempting.”

Shayne leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Spencer knows yet?”

“No. He’s filming. And I don’t want him to spiral into ‘protective golden retriever’ mode.”

“I give it twenty minutes,” Shayne said.

And he was off by about five.

Spencer wasn’t the most observant person in the building.

He got distracted easily—by snack tables, rogue sound guys, and whatever the hell Damien was doing with that fog machine last week. But when it came to you? He didn’t miss much.

So the moment he stepped into the bullpen that afternoon, iced coffee in one hand and hoodie sleeve pushed up the other, he spotted you.

Specifically, you, standing near the shoot schedule wall. And Bradley—standing way too close, with that fake laugh Spencer already hated and a shirt that looked like it cost more than Spencer’s entire closet.

Bradley was leaning in, saying something. You had your tablet held like a shield. Your face wore that polite, I’m tolerating this so I don’t get sued smile.

Spencer’s stomach dropped.

He crossed the room in five slow steps, weaving past Courtney and Arasha mid-conversation. Shayne caught his eye. Raised an eyebrow. Almost as if to say I’ve got your back, Spencer just nodded once and kept walking.

Calm. Easy. But close enough to let the guy know, you’re not alone.

“Hey, babe,” Spencer said, voice soft as he stepped behind you, one hand sliding instinctively to your lower back. “You good?”

You looked up, and your smile instantly turned real.

“Yeah. Just finalizing timing for the B-studio block.”

Spencer nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave Bradley.

The guy looked between you both, blinking.

“Sorry,” Bradley said slowly. “You two are…?”

“Dating,” you answered quickly, professional tone never slipping. “Have been for a while.”

Spencer added, with a perfectly polite smile, “Long enough to know she hates being called ‘assistant of the year.’”

Bradley’s grin stiffened. “Right. Well. Good for you two.”

“Thanks,” you said lightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a location conflict to fix.”

Bradley took a deliberate step back. “Of course.”

Spencer held your gaze as you turned, guiding you by the hand toward the side hallway.

The second you were out of earshot, you exhaled.

“Okay, that was subtle. Ish.”

Spencer squinted. “Did he really call you assistant of the year?” Asking about the text you had sent him during one of your breaks.

You nodded.

“And try to ask you to lunch?”

You nodded again.

Spencer blinked. “I’m going to pour LaCroix in his briefcase.”

You snorted. “Please don’t. Ian still needs to fire him gently.”

Spencer tilted his head. “...What if I just gently knock over a bottle near it?”

You bumped his shoulder. “Just be here. That’s more than enough.”

He smiled then, soft and slow and only for you. “Always.”

By late afternoon, things had reached peak tension. The vibe was dead. Not just off—dead.

Everyone was avoiding the common areas. Damien had “accidentally” moved his shoot to the other side of the building. Courtney had taken her laptop outside. You, stuck at your desk near Ian’s office, were once again being treated to Bradley’s thoughts on “audience expansion” and how “Smosh had potential—it just needed direction.”

You were moments away from faking an emergency fire drill when Ian’s door creaked open.

“Hey,” he called to you, voice deceptively casual. “Mind stepping in for a sec?”

Bradley, ever the opportunist, started to follow.

Ian held up a hand without looking. “Just her.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

Ian was standing by his desk, arms folded. His expression was unreadable—but you’d worked with him long enough to recognize that tight-jawed calm. It was the calm right before a storm. Or a corporate takedown.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said.

You raised a brow. “About Bradley?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Yeah. I’m done watching that guy flirt with you like he’s trying to win a prize on The Price Is Right.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.

Ian smirked. “I’ve seen that look on your face. You’ve been walking on eggshells for four hours. Not because you can’t handle him, but because you’re too professional to make a scene.”

You shrugged. “Someone’s gotta be.”

“Well, good news,” Ian said, sitting on his chair and already opening his laptop. “I’m not.” He sent you on your way, and as you walked in, Bradley took that opportunity to send a wink at you as he walked into Ian’s office.

Bradley had spent the better part of thirty minutes trying to corner Ian in his office with phrases like “brand synergy” and “scalable verticals.” Ian, to his credit, hadn’t lit anything on fire. Yet.

From your desk outside the office, you heard it: the signature sigh. The one Ian only made when someone pitched NFTs or called him Mr. Smosh.

“Okay,” Ian said finally. “You know what? Let’s cut to the chase.”

Bradley’s voice stayed smooth. “Of course.”

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Ian said flatly.

A beat of silence. Then Bradley: “Excuse me?”

Ian stood. “You’ve been here for about four hours, and in that time, you’ve hit on my assistant, interrupted four meetings, and suggested we replace our equipment with AI livestream puppets.”

“I was offering opportunities.”

“You were offering weird tech bros in suits energy,” Ian said. “And I’m not interested.”

“I thought we had alignment.”

“You misread the entire room,” Ian deadpanned. “I’ve seen what I need to see. Including how you treat my staff. Also—assistant of the year? That’s the line?” It had made its way around the office, great.

You tried very hard not to laugh as you typed a fake email just to keep your hands busy.

Bradley sputtered. “You’ll regret this.”

Ian shrugged. “Doubt it. Thanks for your time. Security can show you out. They love investor walkouts—it’s like their Super Bowl.”

Bradley sputtered something under his breath, turned on his heel, and left with his shiny shoes echoing hard against the floor.

Ian leaned out of his office, looked at you, and said, “Sorry. I waited to see if Spencer would deck him first.”

You smiled. “Thanks for the restraint.”

Ian shrugged. “You’re good at what you do. I protect my team.”

Then, with his usual deadpan calm: “Also—he called you ‘boss babe.’ That was the final straw.”

By the time you stepped out into the golden haze of late afternoon, the building was mostly quiet.

Bradley was long gone—escorted by security with the dramatic flair of a deleted Try Not to Laugh bit. The tension you hadn’t realized had been coiled tight in your shoulders all day had finally started to melt away.

And there he was.

Leaning against your car, Spencer looked up as you approached, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the edges of his hair ruffled from the wind or maybe from fidgeting with his hands. He had that look on his face—quietly patient, a little worried, like he’d been waiting to see if you were okay before deciding how to feel.

You dropped your bag on the hood and just… let yourself lean into him.

He caught you without hesitation, arms wrapping tight around your waist, head tipping down to press his cheek against your hair.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” you mumbled back into his chest.

You stayed like that for a minute. Maybe more.

His hoodie smelled like cedar and laundry detergent. Warm and familiar and safe.

“So,” he said eventually, voice low. “Bradley’s gone?”

“Escorted out by security,” you confirmed, not moving. “Ian didn’t even blink.”

Spencer exhaled. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Ian said it was like the security team’s Super Bowl.”

Spencer chuckled softly. “Should’ve sold tickets.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Thanks for earlier. For showing up. For not... punching him.”

“I considered it,” he said. “Briefly.”

You smiled. “Yeah?”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “But then I figured you’d prefer a boyfriend who doesn’t get banned from the office.”

“Correct,” you said. “That’s a bare minimum requirement.”

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening. “I hated seeing you deal with that. You were trying to be polite. Professional. And he just… kept pushing.”

You nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“I know,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have to work twice as hard just to be respected. Not here. Not anywhere.”

You blinked. His voice had gone tight at the end—not angry, but serious.

The kind of tone Spencer usually reserved for things like someone insulting your work ethic or questioning your seat at the table.

You stepped closer again, pressing your forehead to his chest. “I’m okay now.”

He held you tighter. “You shouldn’t have had to be ‘okay’ because you powered through.”

You tilted your head up again, suddenly overwhelmed. “You know I’d pick you, right? A hundred times over.”

He smiled. “I already did.”

“And you know I wasn’t even slightly tempted by his... whatever that was?”

“Tech bro aura?” Spencer offered. “Crypto breath?”

You snorted. “It was awful.”

“I almost challenged him to a hoodie-off,” he said seriously.

“You would’ve won.”

“Obviously.”

You both laughed then—real and light and cathartic.

Spencer reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out your keys. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. I’ll drive.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You driving is a reward now?”

“Yeah,” he said proudly. “I’ve only curb-checked once this week.”

You gave him a mock stern look. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

He grinned and opened the passenger door for you. “You’re luckier.”

You slid in, still smiling. “Let’s get tacos. I deserve tacos.”

He kissed your forehead, closed the door behind you, and whispered through the glass, “You deserve everything.”

Meme Team Supreme

Courtney 👑:BRADLEY HAS LEFT THE BUILDING I repeat—THE TECH BRO HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

Damien 🔥: 🧃💼🚫 Investor arc canceled due to harassment and vibes

Shayne 👖: BREAKING: Smosh studio regains 100% oxygen levels after the departure of one (1) walking Axe body spray

Arasha💍: Not the “assistant of the year” line 💀💀 He sounded like a LinkedIn post possessed by a dating app.

Angela 🎤: ✨✨ “Have you considered scaling your role?”YES. Into his face with a chair.

Tommy 🧢: Ian looked at him like:

Chanse 🧪: Ian was all “thanks for your time,” like he hadn’t already deleted the man from our Google Drive.

Ian 🧠: Just to be clear, I never put him in the Google Drive. He showed up with a pitch deck and BDE (bad deal energy).

Spencer 🧃: was gonna throw hands settled for holding hers instead growth 🌱

Courtney 👑: You literally side-eyed him so hard he LEFT I’ve never seen a man retreat in slacks before

Shayne 👖: He had the audacity of a man who’s never been told “no” and the jawline of a lacrosse coach

Arasha💍: not gonna lie

i was impressed he fit that much cologne in one outfit

Angela 🎤: anyway, we all voted and your boyfriend wins “protective king of the year”

Spencer 🧃: do i get a crown or just eternal vigilante rights over her clipboard

You 👀: You get tacos and the right to dramatically stand outside every time I have to deal with corporate

Damien 🔥: 👑Clipboard King long may he snark

✨ Reblogs + likes | Feedback feeds the writer 📎 Requests and fic recs welcome! 📬 Comment for tag requests

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sleepytopia · 18 days ago

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Don’t Look at My Tail Like That. (one-shot)

Hitoshi Shinso x reader Summary: A training accident leaves you with cat ears, a twitchy tail, and a brand new level of embarrassment. Unfortunately for you, Hitoshi Shinsō thinks it’s adorable. And unfortunately for him, your tail really likes his voice.

You weren’t even the target.

Just walking to the training grounds when someone’s wild quirk ricocheted and hit you straight in the back. One flash of light later, and suddenly-

Fur. Ears. Tail. And unholy levels of sensitivity.

The ears twitch on their own. The tail has a mind of its own. And to make it worse?

The first person you see is Shinso. Standing there. Blinking. And then:

“…Meow?”

You glare. “Say that again and I swear to-”

Your tail flicks. He stares at it.

“I wasn’t ready for how cute this is,” he mumbles, smirking slightly.

You’re about to threaten him again, but his voice drops a little lower, more casual, and suddenly your tail swishes.

Hard.

You freeze. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” he says, all fake innocence. “Like this?”

Your ears twitch wildly. Your tail flicks again, then curls down like it’s shy.

Shinso blinks. Then slowly, grins. “Oh. You’re voice sensitive now.”

You want to die.

The next hour is pure torment.

Every time he talks, every time your tail reacts. Flicking, curling, twitching like it has a crush. He even purrs under his breath to tease you. And the worst part?

You do want to curl into him and nap. His voice is too good. You’re doomed.

At one point, he gently tugs your tail to “see what happens” and you nearly collapse.

By the time the quirk wears off later that night, your hair’s a mess, your pride’s in the dirt, and Shinso is still smirking.

“I kinda miss the ears,” he says as you glare at him.

You start walking away. He jogs to catch up.

“Do you purr when kissed, too?”

“Shinso.”

“Kidding.”

“…Mostly.”

#my hero academia x reader #mha fanfic #mha x reader #x reader #anime fanfic #bnha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia fluff #reader insert #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x reader #quirk accident #cat ears and tail chaos #shinso voice kink implied #cat!reader #bnha imagine #soft chaotic fluff

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alive-gh0st · 2 months ago

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˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

.….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ.. .

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re not obsessed with him. you’re not. but the world clearly is. strange articles. sneaky algorithms. and a voice in your head that won’t shut up. meanwhile, invincible’s got his own problem: he can’t find the girl who called him out like a scrub tech on a bad day.

⛨ contains: sfw. nurse carla’s mischief. media-induced annoyance. early emotional foreshadowing. reader in denial. mark being haunted by words and mystery. parallel narration. bonus scene chaos.

⛨ warnings: mild language. internet stalking (light). stubbornness. minor delusion. no real threats—just a very determined destiny.

⛨ wc: 2146

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: fun fact—i lost half of this chapter mid-edit because my wifi decided to flatline like a soap opera character. dramatic gasp, hospital monitor beep, the whole deal. one second i’m tweaking a paragraph, the next i’m staring at the void where 800 words used to be. i almost fought my router. bare-fisted. anyway, here it is—risen from the ashes, caffeinated, and slightly more unhinged than originally planned. enjoy my suffering.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You know this. You’ve always known this.

You work twelve-hour shifts surrounded by people coughing on your scrubs and trying to die inconveniently. You’ve stitched up knife wounds caused by things described as “accidents,” told grown men they’re not, in fact, dying from a sore throat, and once had to remove a Lego from a place no Lego should ever be.

But lately, it feels personal.

There’s been a shift. A pattern. A very specific, very annoying theme threading itself through your life like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

It’s not love. It’s not fate.

It’s him.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You tap your phone’s screen with more passive aggression than necessary, holding it to your ear even though you know your (only) friend won’t pick up.

Beep.

“Okay, listen—I’m not spiraling. I’m not.”

(Pause. Sip. Another pause.)

“But if one more news article, thirst edit, or random merch featuring that man—shows up in my general vicinity, I will commit a felony. Probably a creative one.”

(Beat.)

“And no—before you say it—it’s not a crush. I don’t have time for crushes. I have sleep deprivation and a spine held together by caffeine.”

(Silence.)

“He’s not even that hot.”

You hang up.

Regret it. Immediately.

And that’s when it hits you—

You’re not obsessed with him.

You’re not.

You’ve been into people before—celebrities, coworkers, a random guy who pronounced your name right on the first try—but this isn’t that. You’re not delusional. You’re tired. You have a full-time job, a chaotic sleep schedule, and at least two stress migraines scheduled for the week.

You’re not obsessed.

The entire world, on the other hand, clearly is.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a newspaper.

A real one. Paper and ink and everything. You’re halfway through your first sip of coffee (not bad, not cursed) when you spot it, splayed open on the front counter like it tripped and fell into your line of sight.

’Invincible saves subway commuters in mid-derailment battle.’

There’s a photo. Midair. Bloodied knuckles. Hero pose. That obnoxious blue-yellow suit.

You blink at it once. Twice. The espresso tastes more bitter somehow.

“…Carla,” you call out, slowly.

A soft shuffle from the break room. “Mhm?”

You tilt your head toward the paper. “Is that yours?”

“Nope,” she chirps, far too quickly.

You squint.

Carla reappears moments later with a tea mug that says ’I am the storm’ in passive-aggressive font and absolutely does not make eye contact as she walks past you.

She hums.

The kind of hum that implies dark intentions.

You stare at the paper like it personally insulted your scrubs.

That’s strike one.

Strike two comes via TikTok. Or… Instagram Reels. Or whatever godforsaken app the algorithm has you trapped in.

You’re lying on your couch on your one night off, a warm takeout container on your lap, the lights dimmed just enough to make it feel like self-care. You open your phone to zone out. Maybe scroll through food mukbangs. A few raccoon videos. Rewatch that one clip from ’The Bear’ for the emotional damage.

Instead, the second video to pop up is a slow-motion fan edit of Invincible. Set to a remix of a 2000s ballad.

You stare at your phone in silence as the hero who bloodied his way through your afternoon is now being thirsted after by teenagers in the comments.

You swipe up fast enough to sprain something.

Then another pops up.

And another.

And—oh, good god. This one’s tagged #invincibae.

You throw your phone facedown on your stomach like it’s contagious.

You’re not angry. You’re not even annoyed.

You’re just trying to have one singular crumb of peace in this godless world, and the masked himbo you verbally body-checked in the middle of a disaster won’t stop invading your downtime.

You eventually find a rerun of ’House MD’ and watch a patient nearly die from licking envelopes, which feels more comforting than it should.

You’re not obsessed.

(But maybe you do glare at a passing bus with his face on the side. Just a little.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

By the end of the week, it gets worse.

You’re at the pharmacy grabbing gauze, extra gloves, and the least offensive granola bar in existence when you see the merch.

Merch.

A corner display stacked with shirts and water bottles and pins. There’s a plushie. A plushie. Of him.

You pause, granola bar halfway to your basket.

A kid next to you picks up the Invincible water bottle and turns to his mom. “Do you think he drinks from this too?”

You visibly clench your jaw.

At that exact moment, your phone dings.

You pull it out with the practiced grace of someone who lives and dies by their calendar app—only to find a suggested article on your lock screen.

’Why Invincible Might Be the Most Relatable Hero Yet!’

You could scream.

Instead, you mutter, “I patched up his concussion while inhaling drywall dust. He was seeing double and still arguing with me.”

The cashier stares at you.

You move on.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The final straw?

A patient brings him up.

Middle of a wound check, nothing dramatic. A few stitches, topical numbing, your hands moving on autopilot. You’re explaining aftercare, bandage changes, when the patient—maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen—smiles at you and says:

“You kinda remind me of Invincible, y’know? Like, you’re calm under pressure and.. kind of badass.”

You blink.

Smile politely. “Cool.”

Inside, your soul shrivels.

You are not him.

You don’t throw punches. You don’t fly. You don’t have a theme song or fan cams or merchandise.

You have an overtime shift on Sunday and a stress knot in your shoulder that’s starting to feel like a second spine.

But the universe doesn’t care.

You’re not obsessed.

You just can’t escape.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t remember your face.

Not clearly, anyway.

The smoke had blurred the details, painted you in silhouettes and urgency. You weren’t the loudest voice in the chaos—just the sharpest. Crisp, cutting, sure of yourself in a way that made his head spin more than the actual concussion.

But your voice?

He remembers that like it’s stitched into the inside of his skull.

Low. Stern. Half-sarcastic and half-soothing. It sounded like someone who didn’t have time for bullshit, which—given the circumstances—made sense.

He was bleeding from the ribs. The city was literally burning.

Still, the memory echoes:

“Don’t say fine.”

“You’re favoring your left.”

“You shouldn’t be flying.”

Mark exhales hard, slumping deeper into the worn couch. The TV’s on but silent. Some old action movie flickers in the corner of his vision. It’s supposed to be background noise.

But nothing is loud enough to drown you out.

He doesn’t know your name.

Doesn’t know what you do, where you’re from, if you even survived the aftermath unscathed.

All he knows is that you made him feel—briefly, dangerously—human.

Not a symbol. Not a name in headlines. Just a guy who was bleeding too much and doing too little.

And he can’t stop hearing you.

“You’re zoning out again,” Debbie says from the kitchen.

Mark flinches, barely registering the sound of the fridge opening.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

Debbie hums skeptically and tosses him a cold can of soda. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re also muttering to yourself like a haunted Victorian widow. Anything I should know?”

Mark cracks the can open with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead like the wall is going to give him divine guidance.

“I met someone,” he says finally.

Debbie doesn’t react. Just leans against the counter, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Okay. And?”

“She yelled at me.”

Still silence.

“And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

There it is.

Debbie snorts into her cup. “That’s it? That’s what’s got you acting like a sad poet?”

He shifts. “It’s not just that. She—she saw right through me. In like, five seconds. Called out every injury I hadn’t processed yet. Told me I wasn’t fine before I could even lie about it.”

“And this was… romantic?”

“No!” Mark frowns. “I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know anything about her. I couldn’t even see her face.”

“Okay, now it’s giving Victorian ghost story.”

“She saved a kid.”

Debbie blinks.

“In the middle of it all. Ran straight into debris and smoke. People tried to stop her and she looked at me like I was the liability.”

He doesn’t mention the way your hands shook but never stopped moving. Or the way you lied—beautifully, horribly—just to keep that child alive a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t mention how it made something in his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” Debbie says, more gently now.

“She was,” he mutters. “And now she’s just… gone.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The thing is, Mark’s not usually like this.

He gets hit, he gets up. He saves people, and he moves on. Faces blur. Names fade. It’s how he copes.

But this? This isn’t fading.

It’s getting worse.

He’ll be flying over the city and see a flash of hair that looks vaguely like yours—and he’ll nearly crash into a billboard turning to check. His neck has started clicking. He’s going to need chiropractic help and therapy.

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s half-convinced he’ll know when he sees you again.

He’s waiting for it.

And that thought alone is ridiculous.

Because he doesn’t wait. Not for danger. Not for hope. Not for anyone.

Except now, apparently, for you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

More than once, he’s hovered outside hospitals and urgent care clinics on patrol. Just a few seconds. Just in case.

He makes excuses for it, of course:

• You never know when you might be needed.

• Some med centers don’t have enough security.

• Maybe he’s being responsible.

But then he hears a nurse’s laugh and it isn’t yours.

And he flies off like a coward.

Not even a few minutes later there’s a robbery in Midtown.

Small-time. Two guys. One has a crowbar. The other trips over his shoelace trying to run.

Mark’s on it in sixty seconds flat.

It’s easy—should be, anyway—but his timing’s off. He lands too hard, shoulder twinges wrong. The guy gets one good swing in before Mark sends him flying (not too far).

It’s done in under a minute.

And still—he’s breathless. Not from the fight, but from the feeling.

The missing.

The what if you’d seen that and thought I was sloppy kind of missing.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts the guy’s dropped phone and hands it off to the store clerk. They thank him. He nods.

Flies away.

He doesn’t go far.

Just lands on some apartment roof, crouches by the ledge, and lets his hands tangle in his hair for a minute.

The city stretches below him, loud and alive.

But all he wants to find is a blur in the chaos that isn’t there.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Later that night, he lies in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it might offer closure.

It doesn’t.

It’s just drywall and shadows and everything you saw through.

His notebook lies half-open next to him—not forgotten, just untouched, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer yet.

It’s not a journal—he doesn’t do feelings that way—but sometimes, when his head’s too loud and his hands need something to do, he sketches. Nothing fancy. Just lines. Shapes. Impressions.

Tonight, it’s you.

Or, what he remembers of you. Which isn’t much.

Your face is a blur. Hair? A vague impression. Maybe dark. Maybe not. But your hands—he remembers those. Quick, steady, smudged with ash. Your posture. How you stood slightly in front of the child like a shield, chin up, like fear was something for other people.

He’s drawn the same half-profile six times now. None of them are right.

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, and flips the page over.

Maybe he’s not trying to get it right.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to forget.

He closes his eyes.

But the voice stays with him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Clinic break room. You. Tired.

You sneeze—violently.

Again.

You rub your nose with the heel of your palm, the tip of it already reddish from overuse, and a dramatic groan leaves your throat as you sink into the unforgiving plastic chair.

“This is some kind of karmic punishment,” you mutter to no one in particular. “Like, I must’ve offended a witch. Or touched something cursed.”

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” offers a random nurse from across the room.

You glare at her. “I’m immune to sickness.”

Then of course, Carla appears behind you, perfectly timed as always.

“Maybe someone’s thinking about you,” she says, casual as rain, not even glancing your way before walking off.

You blink. Deadpan.

Then sneeze again.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

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chaos-chloe · 8 months ago

Text

A Night of Laughter

Summary: A Clooless Sleepover

TW: Flirting, kisses, sexual innuendo

“Welcome to the Sleepover Stream.” Puffer said switching the computer screen over to the camera. Show the setup of the couch, Grizzy all the way over to the left, then Puffer and Droid in the middle, then Pezzy on the end on the right side of the couch.

“Goodnight””Yeah goodnight” was heard from all the boys around. “Now, we will have ___ join u later, she is just at work at the moment, you know saving lives and shit” Puffer says with a lovey-dovey smile while looking at his phone, most likely the text message between them.

“Also, we are stating this now and it is a command in chat, !____, she is a cuddler, she is always cold, she is a friend to all of us, we are NOT dating. You will see that she will pick someone when she joins us, to start off the stream and could change within the night.” Puffer explains to the stream so no will start anything crazy. “Yeah, it will be like we pass her around, but not like that dudes.” Droid pops in laughing at his statement and everyone else joins in.

“She texted me about 5 minutes ago, that she is on her way home now with food, possibly if the restaurant is open, if not she will call one of us.” Grizzy pipes in as he is checking his phone, to inform the guys and chat.

“Alright now that is out of the way, mods you know what to do with messy chatters, anyway I don't have anything else to say but “goodnight”; but yeah, no one looks at my ass I gotta lay down.” Puffer walks over to his assigned spot to get comfy and try to sleep.

“It is a full moon ladies and gents.” Droid talks into his blue mic, and then everyone starts talking over each other to make sure that the stream could hear everyone.

“I was not joking, 4 dudes, 1 girl, later on, one couch made into one bed. We are all snuggly and cuddling.” Puffer says. “You know the whole deal-uh-mods, can you update the ‘!media’, it is a $10 deal. You know the whole deal-uhh-we will be here ‘till 6a.m, probably, that's probably the whole deal.”

“Your monthly prices are increasing, Netflix, NOOO!” Droid screams as a joke. “Oh, it's fine ___ pays for it.” Pezzy shrugs it off with a laugh.

Outside, the full moon cast a soft glow through the curtains, illuminating the laughter-filled space where the four boys now prepared for a night of friendly chaos. Just as whispers turned to the soft crackling of a bag of chips,a notification chimed on Puffer’s phone.

“Hold on, boys! Looks like she’s here,” Puffer exclaimed, sitting straight up on the couch. “Let’s welcome our special guest!”

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing you, their friend with your arms happily burdened by takeout bags. You had warm, bright energy, and though you were tired from saving lives during your shift, your excitement about the sleepover helped wipe the exhaustion from the majority of your face.

“Hey, everyone! You guys better have saved me some snacks!” you teased, setting the bags down with a flourish.

“Never! We starved ourselves for you!” Grizzy said dramatically, clutching his stomach in an exaggerated manner.

With playful nudges and laughter filling the air, they welcomed you to the couch as everyone settled in with their food. Soon enough, the stream chat exploded with welcomes and requests for their own food critiques, and you happily obliged, sharing your favorites while making the occasional snarky comment about how these guys lived on junk food alone

“Okay, I need a quick shower and a change of clothes, I need my pajamas.” You say walking out of the frame, going upstairs towards the bathroom with the nicer shower.

As you made your way upstairs, the sound of laughter and lighthearted banter drifted up from the living room, filling your heart with warmth. Your friends had transformed their cozy, cluttered house into a makeshift living room entertainment hub, complete with gray cushions piled on an oversized couch, and takeout in the background spread all over the counter in the kitchen.

You chuckled to yourself, thinking about the chaos that had unfolded earlier. The reactors—your friends—were skilled at creating a sensational atmosphere, drawing in viewers from all corners of the internet. But you need a moment of solitude before diving back into the social whirlwind, and you relish the thought of slipping into your most comfortable pajamas.

The bathroom reflected your style—a blend of cozy warmth and cold decor. The walls were adorned with different towels, and a collection of rubber ducks lined the back edge of the sink, each representing a different inside joke shared among friends. After a quick shower, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy robe but your heart raced with excitement at reminiscing about the delightful chaos downstairs.

Once dressed in your pajamas—a vibrant silk pair decorated with a cherry blossom print—you took a moment to look in the mirror. “Alright, showtime,” you whispered to yourself, towel drying your hair. With all the anticipation bubbling up inside, you made your way back down the stairs.

As you were coming around the corner, you ran into a green fluffy chest. It was Droid in his lucky charm care bear onesie that he was matching Pezzy. You grabbed his left arm so you wouldn't fall back on the stairs. He grabbed your elbow that was holding onto his arm, and his other arm quickly grabbed your left hip to give you extra support.

“Well, well don't you look gorgeous in those pajamas, babes.” Droid flirts with you, as your face turns into a tomato.

“Oh, stop it. These pj’s are nothing, this is my favorite set though” You say with a silly slap on his arm as you let him go. You walk past him, to head back into the living room, to be met with the rest of the guys just chilling.

The living room was filled with the atmosphere of friendly chaos, laughter bubbling up like a fizzy soda. The vibrant lights of the TV flickered energetically as Buzz Lightyear's theatrics continued to blast from the speakers. You shot a sideways glance at the trio that surrounded you, their faces oscillating between amusement and mischief.

“BUZZ LIGHTYEAR- THE WORLD'S GREATEST SUPERHERO! THE WORLD'S GREATEST TOY!!”

“Jesus, what the hell was that?!” I yelled after almost dying from a heart attack, my heart still beating out of sync.

“Oh, ___ that is the cursed Buzz Lightyear that Puffer talks about.” Pezzy says, still looking at the TV screen. “Ooh look at __-she looks so pretty-love that set- what are yall on about” Pezzy, Puffer and Grizzy all turned their heads to look at me looking at the screen, not wanting to make eye contact with any of them.

Droid, ever the smooth talker, walked back into the living room, his green fluffy onesie puffing out in all the right places. “Cursed or not, that Buzz has got nothing on your designer sleepwear,” he quipped, his eyes glinting with playful mischief with a wink as he climbed over the couch in between Puffer and Pezzy.

“Designer?” you shot back with a smile, retrieving your phone from your pocket, half-expecting to land a lighthearted jab at him. “I think you meant ‘Off Brand-Tik Tok Shop pajamas’.”

“Oh, come on, don’t sell yourself short!” Grizzy chimed in, his wide grin nearly splitting his face. “That set is practically a fashion statement. I mean, who else could pull it off quite like you?” Grizzy was eye googling you as if he was in a trance.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help cracking a smile. As the banter flew, you stepped further into the living room, trying to escape the fiery blush that was still coloring your cheeks.

“Just for that compliment, you are getting the cuddles first Grizz, move over Puffer.” You say, walking in front of the camera, so you can get comfy. Grizzy opens his arms and pats his chest so you lay your head on him.

As you settled into the inviting embrace of Grizzy, the warmth of his heavy blanket enveloped you like a soft bed. The moment felt both cozy and slightly silly, especially with the anticipation of the next loud notification or media share to go off on stream.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Puffer protested, dramatically crossing his arms and pretending to pout. “I was totally first to claim the first cuddle!”

“Welp, Grizzy was the first one to compliment me, so you should have spoken faster.” I say giggling, while snuggling into Grizzy’s side, he wrapped his arm around me where his arm was resting down my back and my leg was propped up on his legs.

“That's gonna be a long ass outro-” “Why is there special?” Grizzy interrupted me as the next media share popped up on screen. “Aye-ya-ya” Grizzy shook his head in disappointment, but then enjoyed the vibes that the song brings. He started banging or shaking his head left to right while he picked up my arm to join him.

Puffer than exclaims, “Bro can you get comfy!?” as he throws up his right hand in offendness. “I got a lot of things.”Droid responds, not giving two-shitsas he was grabbing his stuffed animals and pillow pet, Jerry/Jeffery.

“Why do you have so much shit?” Puffer asked in a tone of “what the hell my guy” “This motherfucker got too much shit.” “You have 1,2,3 toys with you” Puffer counts as he picks up the bear wearing blue and throws it at the end of the couch.

“NO, that’s tippers, no tippers.” Droid yells in shock retrieving tippers, “That one is personal bro.” Grizzy jumps into Droid’s aid. “Yeah dont hurt tippers again puff.” I say reaching over to Droid, unfurling from Grizzy.

“That one is not from Target, that one is from family memories-Whoa, whoa whatcha doin?” Grizzy says being caught off guard from Puffer lifting up the blanket, revealing that Grizzy’s hand migrated down from my back to my ass.

“I was testing it but what are you two doing?” Puffer says slightly offended Grizzy, making playful assumptions. “Cuddling.” Grizzy said while tucking the blanket underneath me since Puffer made me cold while lifting the blanket. “Hey now, I was cuddling with my teddy bear so shush it.” You say with a big smile on our faces as Grizzy was laughing at my innocent play on his name.

“When's the orgy? We could do it right now.” Pezzy read a comment in the chat and answered like his life depended on it. “Huh?” “Nah, that's for a different stream, different shoot.” Droid says calmly shutting that comment down. Grizzy tilted his head down to whisper in your ear, “You know he ain't wrong.” He looked at you, like you are a five star meal. Your face lit up like the night sky, after you fully comprehended what he was talking about. “You are right, but who got us caught in the first place?” playing snipping back at him with a small wink.

“Chat, it's 8:30 p.m we are not going to bed yet.” Puffer sniped at chat, “Mmm who's not going to bed?” Grizzy asked into his microphone. “Damn i had my head lean back, eyes closed, ___ laying on me, I’m ready even though i woke up 3 hours ago.” You shook your head and closed your eyes, snuggled closer to Grizzy. As the soft glow of the screen illuminated the room, you drifted deeper into slumber, feeling Grizzy’s gentle presence wrap around you like an additional layer of comfort. The cozy kingdom was alive with voices, jokes, and the occasional burst of laughter, but the soothing hum of camaraderie worked its magic, and your eyelids feel heavy. Grizzy lifted the blanket up blocking his face and yours, he did it to make sure you were all tucked in and to give you a kiss on your head.

“Who’s gonna fall asleep first?” Pezzy read off a chat

“Looks like we have a winner already,” Puffer said with a theatrical sigh, his voice teasing and light. “We should've made a pool for money instead of sleep cycles.”

“Can you imagine the chaos? We might as well place bets on who’ll bring the snacks next!” Pezzy chuckled, glancing over at Grizzy, who was still keeping you tucked in together. “But seriously, was anyone expecting ___ to be the first to crash? She's practically a professional napper!”

Grizzy couldn’t help but beam at that remark, glancing down at you with a smile that made his eyes twinkle. “I don’t think it’s her fault at all,” he replied softly, brushing a stray hair away from your forehead, “Work this week has been brutal, and I think she deserves every peaceful moment she can snag.”

“Oh, we see what you’re doing, Grizzy! Trying to earn some brownie points, huh?” Pezzy snapped back, tapping the table dramatically, earning a round of chuckles from the others.

“Not brownie points, but maybe brownie treats later?” Grizzy leaned back into the couch, aware that the usual dynamic of friendly banter was in full swing. He felt proud to be part of the group, though mostly for the reason that they charged the room with laughter and silliness.

“You’re kind of the poster child for cozy tonight, my friend,” Droid chimed in, adjusting his position to lean forward a bit. “I mean, look at you! Snuggling a human burrito over there while the rest of us are…you know…hustlin’ for superiority with snacks.”

In that instant, the atmosphere shifted slightly. Everyone turned their attention to you, your face partially concealed behind Grizzy’s blanket fort. Laughter morphed into softer, gentle smiles as the affection grew palpable.

“Look at her—no care in the world,” Droid said, the hint of admiration framing his tone. “That’s what we’re all running toward, I think—a moment of peace amidst the chaos.”

“Exactly! So let’s make sure that they don’t fully ruin it until she wakes up from a jumpscare.” Grizzy asserted, his voice gentle yet firm, maintaining the protective energy that had become a part of your evening slumber.

“Aye mods, that was a $3 one, nuh uh we ain't doing that.” Puffer disciplined mods, “Wait, did i not save the changes, did it save at $3?” Puffer was talking out loud, while scooting forward to look at the laptop setup settings. As he was scooting forward, ___ fell into the space in between her and Puffer, which ultimately made her snuggle into Puffer’s warm spot. Then a media share went off, sent Puffer back in shock and he ended up landing on ____.

A startled gasp escaped your lips as Puffer’s unexpected weight landed on you, the warmth of the cozy blanket now doubling in heat. The sudden shift jolted you awake, eyes blinking rapidly as you took in the comical chaos that had just unfolded.

“Whoa! Puffer! What in the world?” you half-laughed, half-yelped, your heart racing. You felt like a caught fish, sandwiched between Puffer’s vibrant laughter and the remnants of your dream.

Puffer leaned more onto you as a joke, a wide grin stretching across his face, “I swear, that was not part of the plan! It was the mods’ fault—totally their fault!” He gestured dramatically, as though blaming an invisible foe for the mishap.

Still groggy, you rubbed your eyes, trying to reorient yourself to the dim light of the cozy spot. Grizzy chuckled beside you, the warmth of his arm still lingering, “Looks like you officially lost your first round of the Cuddle. Puffer just shrekted you!” Puffer got off of you and fixed the media share cost on the settings. After he saved the changes, he saw his new dilemma of you now being his cuddle buddy. He got situated in a new spot, and dragged you over into his left side, got you into the same position as earlier but with Grizzy.

Pezzy standing up from his cozy spot and striking a pose like a game show host. “And for our next enchanting act, we have ‘Puffer and ____ vs. the Legendary Media Share’! How many times can they be surprised before bedtime?”

“That’s a highly questionable title!” you protested, your eyes still adjusting to the light. “Shouldn’t we call it ‘Sleeping Beauty vs. Puffer’s Clumsiness’ instead?” “He gets scared more than anyone else, I wouldn't be surprised if I move within 10 minutes.” You say groggily, trying not to yawn.Yet, the moment his attention turned to adjusting his position, you felt the heat rising. Puffer, with a swift motion, had adjusted you perfectly into his space. You were now practically sprawled on top of him, the cozy blanket shrouding both of you in softness.

The cozy ambiance suffused the space, wrapping each of you in the warmth of friendship—and a tinge of something deeper. As Puffer’s lips brushed your forehead, his soft whisper hung in the air, “We could just stay like this forever and not move.” With those words, everything felt suspended in a perfect moment—a bubble that seemed to hide you both from the outside world.

But soon, reality crept back in, whimsical in its way. You giggled softly, “I agree, but I know within the next five media shares, you will jump multiple times and I will get annoyed.” With a playful spirit, you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

Every few moments, the cozy fort filled with the soft background noise of laughter and chatter, punctuated by the hum of technology. You found yourself drifting in and out of sleep, half-awake and still enveloped in that delicious warmth, lulled by Puffer’s presence.

Then, as if on cue, the next media share began: an old video that had seemingly become a legend among your group—the classic AAA battery scare. You barely had enough awareness to brace yourself. Just as the video intensified, the chilling build-up reached its climax, and in true comedic fashion, an abrupt and bass-boosted scream blasted from the speakers, shaking you from your slumber.

Puffer’s reaction was instantaneous. It was like watching a startled kitten; he flinched fiercely, his body jerking from the shock. His hips shot up from the couch—directly colliding with yours. You hadn’t seen that coming, and the unexpected shift made you gasp, which unexpectedly slipped into a moan before you could catch it.

“Oh! Uhm… I mean—” you scrambled to cover yourself up, attempting to transform the sound into a groan of dissatisfaction. “Why does this always happen?!”

Puffer’s eyes were wide, shock mixing with something else as he stammered, “I—uh—wow! That was unexpected!” His cheeks had taken on a deep shade of crimson, a comical juxtaposition to his otherwise bold nature.

Grizzy, catching the situation, erupted into laughter, nearly doubling over, “Did that just happen? Puffer, you’ve officially shrekted ____ again!”

“Shrekted" is NOT a verb! Stop that!” you protested, though your own laughter bubbled to the surface, unable to resist the charm of the moment. You pushed lightly against Puffer’s chest, movement still affectionate even as your heart raced. “I’m fine, really!”

Puffer chuckled, leaning back slightly, a teasing glimmer in his eye. "Sure, you are! If by 'fine' you mean completely flustered and unable to string together a coherent sentence," he shot back playfully, enjoying the light banter between you. The corners of his lips quirked up as he regarded you, his chest still buzzing from the scare, but now accompanied by a distinctly different kind of adrenaline.

“Okay, okay, maybe that’s true,” you admitted, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tried to dodge his playful gaze. Your heart raced not just from the shock of the video but from the fuzzy warmth of being so close to him. “But you have to admit that was a shocking surprise!”

“Oh, I’ll definitely admit that,” he replied, a mock-serious tone underscoring his words. “But can we just appreciate the real surprise? It’s not every day you accidentally fuse cuddling with an accidental collision of our hips!”

Your heart was racing and your face was heating up with fire, “You know what, Imma call it here. Imma rolls over and claims Droid as my next victim to cuddle with.”

Puffer burst into laughter, his dark curls bouncing as he tilted back, clearly entertained by your dramatic declaration. “Oh no! Not Droid! Anything but that!” He feigned horror, clutching his chest. As you shifted your position and draped yourself onto Droid, pulling him into a warm hug, Puffer’s laughter echoed behind you.

Droid grinned, looking between you and Puffer. “You just made the right choice. I have unlimited cuddles available, and I promise they come with complimentary warmth and safety!” His tone was light-hearted, and the comfort radiated from him as you nestled deeper into his side.

“Don’t worry, Puffer,” Droid assured him, placing a reassuring hand on your back. “I can share my cuddle time! There’s plenty of warmth to go around. Besides, I’ll make sure to wrap you in soft blankets if you get too scared again.”

With laughter bubbling in the air, the atmosphere morphed into one of joy and connection. Your playful exchange transitioned effortlessly into a comfortable mellow where you found joy in just being close, knowing that this was the somewhat perfect evening.

“Friends with benefits, am I right?” Droid talked softly into your ear, glancing your way, his eyes sparkling with glimmer. “Now we’re really getting into dangerous territory!” you shot back with a gentle smile, feeling a rush of warmth wash over you again. Cuddles were one thing—implied ‘benefits’ was a whole other ball game. “I mean, we could go to that territory, I heard what Grizzy said to you when Pezzy mentioned a group orgy.” Droid sighed, his body sagging at tenison releasing from holding information in for so long.

“I mean, I was joking around with Grizzy. Do you all feel that way?” You questioned scaredly, almost wanting to run away, with innocence just dripping from your figure.

Droid chuckled, the playful glimmer in his eyes intensifying as he leaned in a little closer. “You know we’re just teasing you, right? Or…maybe we’ve all been too comfortable tonight.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, making your heart race with the implications. “Let’s just say, when it comes to cuddles, the lines can blur, and sometimes the jokes take on a life of their own.”

You furrowed your brow, both curious and slightly apprehensive. “But it’s all in fun, right? Like, we’re just friends, just cuddling. Right?” The question lingered in the warm air, inviting exploration while the cozy glow of the room danced with laughter around you.

“Sure! Friends with some cuddly benefits!” Droid replied playfully, spinning the phrase into something almost whimsical. “But there’s a difference between joking around and actually having feelings. Trust me, no one wants things to get complicated tonight.” He shot a quick glance towards Puffer and Grizzy, who were currently locked in a mock argument over the significant merits of their favorite childhood cartoon characters.

Your heart beat faster at the thought of complicating the easy relationship you had fostered within your circle. The cuddles, the laughter, the ridiculous moments—they formed a harmonious rhythm that you cherished deeply. “I don’t want to ruin anything by taking it further. What if we get tangled up and something happens?”

Droid surprisingly relaxed, a sincere expression resting on his features. “You’re not ruining anything. We all care about each other, and this is all part of exploring what those feelings mean. Just know that at the end of the day, I think we’re all here to make memories together.”

You studied his eyes, a mixture of warmth and concern glimmering back at you. It felt comforting, grounding you amidst the whirlwinds of banter and blissful chaos. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just don’t want to make things awkward.”

“Awkward?” Droid laughed lightly, ruffling his hair, which somehow made him look even more adorable than he already was. “Have you met this group? Come on now, look at us doing a sleepover stream on twitch.”

Pezzy, overhearing your conversation, wiggled his eyebrows comically. “Oh yeah, the king of awkward moments is right here! Remember when Grizzy attempted to serenade ___ with that old love song? Classic!” He let out a loud laugh, prompting everyone else to remember and join in, sharing their own favorite embarrassing stories.

Soon, the atmosphere shifted again as shared experiences and playful anecdotes piled one on top of the other, and the earlier tension fizzled out like a quickly deflating balloon. You felt lighter with each laugh, the worries that had clouded your mind slipping away like mist under the morning sun.

But as the laughter echoed, a small thought flickered in your mind. You noticed Droid’s teasing smirk when you turned to him, the light in his eyes hinting that maybe—just maybe—there was something more beneath the surface. Something neither of you had fully explored yet.

You snuggled back against Droid’s shoulder and allowed the comforting chaos to swirl around you, grateful for the journey ahead while keeping the precious moments close enough to hold. As the soft, ambient sounds of Minecraft lo-fi music filled the room, a calm veil descended over the group. The chill vibes wrapped around each of you like a cozy embrace, and everyone instinctively shifted closer, creating a warm cocoon on the couch. The flickering glow of the screen cast gentle shadows, enhancing the magical atmosphere of the moment.

You felt relaxed as you leaned more into Droid, the corners of your mouth turning up into a smile as you listened to the soothing beats that lingered in the air. "Welcome to our little sanctuary of peace and cozy adventures!" he declared dramatically, causing everyone to chuckle as they settled deeper into the comfort.

Pezzy, with his signature non-mischief, grabbed his Yoshi plushie and shut his eyes, enjoying the peace that the lo-fi music sung into the living room. “Lo-fi vibes—no chaos allowed!” he whispered playfully into the mic, everyone shook their heads in agreement. You rolled over to the left, the area right in between Pezzy and Droid; but still snuggled into Droid.

Not long into the mellow playlist, another media share kicked in,ocean waves to fall asleep too. As the soothing sounds of ocean waves rippled through the room, an air of tranquility settled. Soft whispers echoed with quiet laughter as eyelids grew heavy, and people nestled deeper into the comfort of each other. Just as you began to drift away to thoughts of sandy beaches and the gentle hush of the sea, the peaceful moment was abruptly shattered by the unmistakable opening chords of a familiar song. The sudden shift from tranquility to chaos was jarring, and you couldn’t help but erupt into laughter as the upbeat rhythm filled the space, shaking everyone out of their mellow zones.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down!" rang out, the classic Rick Astley hit blasting full volume like an air horn in the serene atmosphere. The shock of the sudden upbeat energy threw everyone into disarray, pulling laughter and startled reactions from every corner.

“Thanks Chat, now I’m limp as fuck,” Droid blurted out amidst the chaos, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. He tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, but you could feel the playfulness bubbling beneath the surface, igniting a cheerful atmosphere that was impossible to resist.

“Droid, don’t lie now! You have __ laying on you. Ain’t no way your limp,” Grizzy shot back, incredulity mixed with mirth in his voice. He nudged Droid with exaggerated gestures, making a scene as he pointed accusingly at the two of you.

Droid turned to you, his eyes dancing with humor as he leaned a bit closer. "Hey, what can I say? The presence of such cuteness takes all the energy out of a guy!" The banter filled the space with warmth, but the comment sent a delightful thrill racing through you.

You chuckled softly, trying to play it cool but feeling your cheeks warm at his words. “Well, if I’m causing cosmic energy depletion, maybe it’s time I step back.” You pretended to shift away, feigning an exaggerated pout, but the playful glimmer in your eyes revealed your true intention—staying right where you were.

The playful atmosphere was abruptly hijacked as the voice of Buzz Lightyear boomed through the speakers with a theatrical flourish, bursting forth like a cannonball into a calm pool. “BUZZ LIGHTYEAR—THE WORLD’S GREATEST SUPERHERO! THE WORLD’S GREATEST TOY!!” The announcement crashed over everyone like a wave, and panic ensued as hearts raced and laughter erupted in equal measure.

Everyone leaped from their spots, startled out of their cozy moments like startled deer, eyes wide and pulses quickening. Droid shot upwards and nearly knocked over the bowl of chips that had been sitting precariously close. “What was that?!” he exclaimed, gripping his chest as if to stop the rapidly beating heart within.

“WHY DOES BUZZ HAVE TO YELL LIKE THAT?!” Grizzy cried out, half-laughing and half-mocking, as he waved his arms dramatically, trying to rein in his own thumping heart. “I almost forgot I wasn’t in a horror movie!”

“Seriously, that’s not a greeting! It’s an announcement of doom!” Pezzy followed up, gripping the edge of the couch, eyes darting as if expecting something to jump out at him. “I thought I was going to get drafted for a secret mission or something!”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, your laughter mingling with theirs as you tried to regain composure from the unexpected jump scare. “Who knew Buzz was such an adrenaline booster? Maybe he truly is a superhero!”

“Yeah, the kind of superhero who gives you a heart attack,” Droid managed to joke, his breath still hitching as he tried to steady himself. “What’s next? Is Lightning McQueen going to come racing in at full speed?”

Grizzy, feigning an air of deliberation, responded dramatically, “Lightning McQueen would totally give me a heart attack too! Someone, please—bring back the calming ocean waves!”

Pezzy, still trying to catch his breath, planted his hands on his hips and pretended to give an impassioned speech to the ceiling. “I demand a safe space! A tranquil zone where no animated characters can yell at me suddenly. Buzz Lightyear is not invited! Also, I need to pee, so I'm going to pee. I’ll be back.” Pezzy says storming off to the ground level bathroom.

As the remnants of laughter began to dissolve and the soothing notes of a tranquil song from Avatar: The Last Airbender filled the room, a comforting atmosphere settled back in. The peaceful melody wrapped around you like a warm embrace, restoring serenity after the chaos of the earlier jump scare.

Just then, Pezzy emerged from the bathroom, still adjusting to the calm that had enveloped the gathering. He approached his designated spot only to discover a blanket of fluff and warmth—___ had claimed his territory, your form curled up comfortably in his absence on the couch. You could see a flicker of faux outrage cross his face.

With an exaggerated sigh of mock dismay, he declared, “Oh, the betrayal! My very own spot has been hijacked!” As if on cue, he flung his beloved Yoshi plushie down to the floor in a dramatized act of protest. The plushie landed with a soft thump, as though it understood his anguish.

Not one to let a minor setback get him down, Pezzy then decided to take matters into his own hands. He sidestepped the occupied space, hopping over the back of the couch with surprising agility. It was like watching an acrobat perform a daring maneuver, a mix of calculated confidence and carefree spirit.

With one foot landing just beside you, the warmth of his body pressed against yours as he gracefully settled down. You immediately found comfort in this new arrangement, body half awake, half asleep—a cozy blend of tranquility created by the soft music and the warmth radiating from Pezzy’s presence.

“Ahh, this is much better,” he sighed contentedly, sinking into the cushions beside you. The slight weight of him made the rest of the world fade away—a perfect addition to the relaxed ambiance. It was as if you both were enveloped in a personal bubble of calm.

“Mmm, this isn’t bad at all,” you murmured sleepily, shifting just enough to nestle against him. It felt effortless, as if you’d both found your own comfortable spots within the vastness of the couch.

Moments naturally drifted by as you both closed your eyes slightly, letting the music wash over you. Pezzy’s warm presence kept you grounded, a gentle reminder that amidst laughter, chaos, and unpredictability, tranquility could also bloom.

As the peaceful ambiance enveloped you, the soothing notes of Avatar gradually faded, replaced by a sudden jarring bass that erupted through the speakers. The iconic Jellyfish Jam from SpongeBob SquarePants kicked in, amplified to a degree that could send a shiver down one’s spine, bass boosted to the point where it felt like a mini earthquake had struck the living room.

Pezzy jolted upright, eyes wide with incredulity. “What is happening?!” he exclaimed, smirking at the absurdity of the situation. The infectious rhythm thumped through the walls, drowning out your shared cocoon of tranquility. “This is definitely not the calming wave we signed up for!”

You burst out laughing, the previous serene atmosphere getting hijacked yet again by the wild energy of SpongeBob's carefree tune. There was something about the slapstick charm of the yellow sponge and his jellyfishing escapades that ignited an avalanche of laughter among your friends, who were just beginning to wake up from their own cozy states.

You were the first to join the riot, your smiles turning into giggles as you bounced slightly in your area “This is fantastic! Nothing like the Jellyfish Jam to get your heart pumping!” you exclaimed, adjusting your position to dance a little, all while draping the blanket like a party shawl.

feeling Pezzy’s laughter resonate beside you. “I’m not ready to dance!” he joked, throwing his hands up,moving his body slightly to the beat. “We can’t just let the jellyfish groove without us?”

The magnetic rhythm had lured everyone in, and before long, Grizzy and Droid had jumped up, imitating the jellyfish’s animated movements, arms flopping as they wiggled about like they were swimming through an imaginary ocean. “Look at me! I’m a jellyfish!” Grizzy declared with mocking grandeur, causing even more laughter among the crowd.

As the frantic jellyfish antics faded away into memory, you found your spot back on the couch, a soft cocoon of warmth and laughter. Pezzy's presence, wrapped around you like a gentle hug, cradled your senses, balancing the previous chaos with a serene comfort. The ambient sound of giggles and breathy whispers settled in as everyone slipped under their blankets, a colorful patchwork of fabric draped over the entire group like a whimsical safety net.

The next hour unfolded as a series of delightful segments filled with ridiculous videos and infectious laughter that punctuated the air like confetti. Each new media share was a surprise, an unexpected gem of comedic gold that pulled everyone’s attention back to the screen with wide eyes and stifled snickers. Until Puffer saw one of his Mods in chat spamming that the media share was broken.

As the last video came to an end, the screen suddenly froze, leaving everyone in a momentary state of confusion. The room was filled with a buzz of idle chatter, punctuating the silence as everyone wondered what went wrong. Puffer, who had been seated near the laptop, squinted at the screen, gauging the situation with an air of determination.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this!” he declared, rising with confidence, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Someone get the popcorn; it’s time for Puffer to troubleshoot!”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you knew this was going to be an adventure. Puffer leaned over the laptop, clicking and typing excitedly as if he were about to save the world from a digital catastrophe. He manipulated the mouse wildly, attempting various approaches with a combination of trial and error. “Okay, let’s try refreshing… or maybe it wants a new video input?” he muttered to himself, his hands moving swiftly.

A few awkward clicks later, he turned to the group, expression both focused and slightly sheepish. “If anyone has a higher power, now would be a good time to channel it!” The laughter that erupted was unanimous—everyone loved Puffer’s relentless optimism even as the digital drama continued.

Finally, after some tinkering and a few dead-end attempts, Puffer’s face lit up with triumph as the media share screen flickered back to life. “Aha! I knew my infinite wisdom would prevail!” he proclaimed dramatically, arms raised like a conquering hero.

The moment quickly shifted back to the screen, but then Puffer paused mid-victory to take notice of something on his screen. His brow furrowed for a second before a mischievous grin spread across his face, and he leaned back slightly. “Um, you guys might want to check this out,” he teased, his voice dripping with playful suspicion.

Curious, everyone turned to see what Puffer was pointing at on the couch, to reveal glimpses of cozy moments between you and Pezzy. Much to your embarrassment, there you were, all snuggled up against him with a look that spoke volumes of comfort and warmth. His arm was draped casually around your shoulder, and the camera had captured that innocent moment of intimacy as Pezzy's hand rested underneath your shirt, resting lightly on your stomach.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks like a rushing tide, suddenly hyper-aware of the playful gaze of your friends. Laughter echoed around the room, some playful teasing notes rising above the joyful cacophony.

“Oh come on, look at that! That’s beyond cuddly!” Droid added with a mocking shake of his head, clearly enjoying the fun of this unexpected exposure.

Pezzy chuckled, apparently somewhat unfazed by the scrutiny, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he nudged you playfully. “What can I say? Sometimes you just need a snack and some comfort,” he declared with a faux-seriousness that made the room erupt in laughter again.

“Yeah, snacks being you!” Puffer added, delighting in the playful atmosphere he’d inadvertently highlighted.

The embarrassment lingered lightly like a blush on your cheeks, but amidst the teasing, you couldn’t help but smile. There was something genuinely nice about the moment, about being comfortable with friends who accepted you exactly as you were, flaws and all.

You decided to embrace the light-hearted banter. “Hey, cuddling is a vital part of survival! Everybody knows that!” you retorted defiantly. “How else can one survive a full hour of media sharing without strong cuddle support?”

The laughter that rippled through the group felt like a warm embrace, transforming what could have been an awkward moment into another cherished memory. You snuggled further into Pezzy’s side, joining in on the fun. After all, this was all in good spirit, and the camaraderie within the group only seemed to deepen that night.

As the media share slid from clips of fluffy puppies tumbling in a garden to cheeky cat videos performing their own brand of shenanigans, the mood escalated into a riot of laughter and squeals. Pezzy often set the tone—his laughter was contagious, his presence an anchor of joy. Everyone felt at home, and as you snuggled further into Pezzy’s side, a warm serenity washed over you—this was your tribe, your family.

Puffer, ever the leader, had finally solved the media share app's quirks, and the next clip was ready to roll. The mischievous glint in his eye hinted at the good-spirited chaos to come. He pressed play, and instantly, the room filled with the unexpected sound of thumping music that matched every beat of your twerking exploits, captured gleefully from your social media.

"Whoa! Who knew you had those moves?" Grizzy exclaimed, his voice a mix of disbelief and lust, which earned a round of jeers from the others.

As the video played, each rhythmic sway drew exaggerated gasps and groans from Pezzy and Puffer, while Grizzy’s playful taunting escalated into outright praise. Each twist and turn had surfed a wave of shock and delight, and Droid, now wide awake, stood frozen, mouth agape. You caught a glimpse of his expression, a mixture of awe and amusement, like a child seeing fireworks for the first time.

The atmosphere in the room shifted to a vibrant blend of energy and frisky as the video showcased your surprise dance moves, each beat pulsating with a life of its own. With every sway, Pezzy dramatically clutched his heart, feigning restraint from bursting into wild applause, while Puffer leaned in, eyes wide, caught somewhere between admiration and mischief. Grizzy,

could hardly contain himself, erupting into laughter as he chanted compliments and exaggerated reactions.

It was in this whirl of laughter and gaiety that Droid’s inspiration struck. In an impulsive moment, he turned to you, caught under the mesmerizing spell of your dance, and before you could react, he smacked your butt with a playful burst of confidence. The surprise hung in the air, time seeming to freeze momentarily as the room erupted into a mixture of gasps and laughter. The mix of shock and giggles was contagious, with each friend rooting for more daring antics.

But as the reality of action dawned on Droid, his face flushed a shade of crimson. “Oh, no! I-I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, eyes wide in shock, realizing the unexpected boldness of his move.

As his embarrassment peaked, he turned away, only to find himself snuggling next to you in an almost childlike manner, muttering apologies as if hoping to melt into the couch. “I’m so sorry! That was so out of line, I wasn’t thinking, just—”

“Relax, Droid!” you replied, chuckling as you nudged him playfully. “We’re all ‘friends’ here! Just consider it a compliment.”

The laughter echoed through the room, a symphony of amusement bubbling up like soda pop shaken too vigorously. Puffer, leaning back in his chair, couldn’t suppress his chuckles, and Grizzy dramatically wiped away tears of laughter. Pezzy was red in the face, torn between embarrassment and bemusement; it wasn’t every day he found himself among such a raucous crowd.

“Okay, okay, let’s not get too carried away!” you exclaimed, playfully nudging Droid away, who was still buried in a sea of regrets and apologies, mumbling about how he didn’t mean to be so bold. You couldn’t help but smile at this unexpected turn of events; it was just too entertaining.

“Don’t worry, Droid. Just don’t make it a habit,” you winked, turning the situation into a lighthearted joke. The room erupted again with raucous laughter, and it felt like a bubble of joy had enveloped all of you. It was one of those rare moments, where ridiculousness united friends in a blend of laughter and mischief, an unbreakable bond of camaraderie.

“But seriously, how did you even manage to pull off those moves and why haven't you done them on me yet?” Grizzy smirked, leaning in closer as if hoping to uncover the secrets behind your seemingly spontaneous dancing prowess.

Grizzy’s footsteps creaked across the floor as he ambled out of the cozy living room, his mission to find his elusive hair tie and sleep mask. “I’ll be right back! Don’t eat all the snacks without me!” he called, but everyone knew this was a challenge rather than a warning. As soon as he left, an excited buzz encircled the room; media share had started to stutter and glitch, like a wayward satellite trying to connect with the right signal.

Puffer, the tech whiz of the group, grabbed his trusty laptop. The screen flickered in protest as he muttered under his breath, “What’s going on with you now?” His fingers danced skillfully across the keys, eyes narrowed in concentration. Every now and then, he glanced up to catch the stream of chaotic energy that filled the room, almost like a buzz of electric excitement electrifying everyone’s laughter and chatter.

“Just think of it as character-building for the media share,” Pezzy jokes, reclining back into the couch with his water bottle or coke bottle in his lap.

You chuckled, feeling utterly at ease, nestled snugly between Droid and Pezzy. Your friends provided an amusing buffer, eliciting warmth and joy from the light banter that occurred around you. Grabbing your phone for a moment, you scrolled through your socials’ endless chatter, pausing occasionally to catch a snippet of a lively conversation or a meme that made you smile.

Just then, Grizzy re-entered the room, arms laden with snacks — a bag of cheese cubes that you brought home earlier cradled in one hand, while the other sported an enormous chocolate bar that seemed almost to shine in the dim light. “I feel liberated! And guess what I found?” he exclaimed triumphantly, yanking off the sleep mask that was dangling from his neck. “The ultimate sleep accessory!”

You burst into laughter at his silly antics, while Grizzy graciously gave you a handful of your favorite type of cheese, his delightful obsession with snacks evident as he plopped down, a grin plastered on his face.

“Thanks, Grizzy! Best snacks ever,” you said, your smile wide as you ate a cube from the pile.

With perfect timing, Puffer triumphantly declared, “It lives!” as the media share flickered back to life. He beaconed for everyone’s attention, “Who’s ready to see some legendary content?” He playfully pointed at you, knowing you were usually the most enthusiastic about the wildest videos.

“Mildly legendary, at least!” you joked back, as a wave of giggles swept through the room.

Puffer then bounded up to the fridge, grabbing two chilled water bottles. As Puffer theatrically waved the water bottle before handing it to you, the room erupted in giggles. A playful warmth enveloped you as he flashed that signature, quirky flirty smile, saying, “Stay hydrated, my love! We need some of our energy for tonight’s stream!” It felt like a scene plucked straight out of a romantic comedy, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling lighthearted and surrounded by good vibes.

Just as everyone settled onto the couch, shifting legs and rearranging pillows for comfort, the atmosphere was interrupted by a cheerful, chime-like notification. The screen flickered with a bright message announcing a fresh donation—a moment of sweet, dramatic déjà vu.

“Grizzy daddy sorry… Pezzy daddy sorry… Puffer daddy sorry… Oh Hi Droid...” The words echoed through the room as everyone burst into an uproar of laughter, breaking the blissful moment of quiet anticipation.

The moment the words echoed through the room, the atmosphere swelled with laughter that spilled into every corner of the cozy space. Each of the boys reacted with exaggerated flair, their personalities blossoming in the face of absurdity.

Pezzy quickly flicked off the camera with a theatrical motion, a bemused expression splashed across his face. “Well, that’s one way to get kicked off the stream!” he quipped, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation while trying to suppress the giggles bursting forth. The playful banter had taken a wild turn, and he was all too eager to jokingly step back.

Puffer, ever the mastermind of theatrics, raised one eyebrow in a perfectly timed reaction. He peered intently into the lens as if assessing the situation. “I don’t recall signing up for this, people! What a betrayal!” he exclaimed, his tone dramatic and over-the-top, eliciting more laughter from the group.

Grizzy, on the other hand, took the insults with a smirk, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “What?” he hummed into the mic, his deadpan delivery contrasting hilariously with the chaos of the moment. It was his quintessential lazy nonchalance that often played out in the most joyful of ways, and the sight left everyone chuckling.

Droid, embodying his role as the steady yet quirky dad-type of the group, opted for the classic dad wave, a somewhat exaggerated waving gesture that left the others in stitches. “Oh hi there, everyone! Just checking in, no big deal!” he said, a grin growing wide across his face. His tone was comically casual, adding a delightful layer to the already jovial atmosphere. You cuddled into his side giving him extra love since chat was not loving him.

Droid’s dad wave came off as wonderfully charming, but what drew attention next was the sweet moment you shared. As you cuddled into his side, he turned slightly, a mix of surprise and delight flashing across his face. The laughter around you faded into a soft backdrop as you leaned in closer, your whisper brushing against his ear like a teasing breeze.

“You know we can blur those lines, like you said earlier, daddy,” you said, your voice low and playful, accompanied by a subtle bite of your lip that sent a ripple of warmth through the air. Your sultry gaze met his, and in that moment, a spark seemed to dance between the two of you, igniting a playful tension that even the jubilant noise of your friends couldn’t extinguish.

Droid’s cheeks flushed a shade deeper than usual, a mix of comical embarrassment and sincerity painting his expression. “Whoa now,” he chuckled nervously, adjusting his glasses with an endearingly awkward gesture. His grin, however, widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. “We’ve got an audience here, and they’re expecting some dad jokes, not... whatever this is.” The thrill in his voice hinted at how much he was enjoying this unexpected turn of events, the way it turned the night from merely entertaining into something tantalizingly complex.

The laughter around you surged back, with Pezzy and Puffer barely containing their amusement. “Look at you two! What is happening?” Pezzy exclaimed, nudging Puffer playfully. “Someone’s getting scandalous!”

With everyone now grinning conspiratorially, Droid leaned in closer, brushing his shoulder against yours as he whispered back, “You’re really going to make it hard for me to stick to my dad persona like this.” There was a hint of challenge in his voice, the playful spark beckoning him to dive into the quirky chemistry crackling between you two.

“Oh, that’s the point,” you replied smoothly, throwing in an exaggerated wink for dramatic flair, prompting more laughter from the guys. “A little chaos never hurts anyone, right?”

Droid glanced over at the camera, then back at you, his expression a mix of affection and mischief. He was clearly torn between maintaining his wholesome charm and embracing the funny spur-of-the-moment vibes that had overtaken the stream. “Guess we’ll have to see how much chaos we can get away with tonight!” he ultimately declared, laughter spilling from his lips.

The laughter that erupted after Droid’s declaration was quickly eclipsed by the sudden and loud “ACHOO!” from Grizzy, echoing through the room like a fire alarm. Everyone turned their attention to him, eyes wide and ready for whatever playful chaos might ensue next.

“Bless you, daddy!” you chimed in, your voice a playful melody that added to the humor of the moment. It was a lighthearted jest, one that only you seemed to notice was met with a hint of surprise from Grizzy.

“Thank you, kitten,” Grizzy replied absentmindedly, a sheepish grin dancing on his face, completely missing the undertones of misplaced affection behind your playful greeting.

At that instant, everyone froze in a state of disbelief, their expressions oscillating between shock and hilarity. Droid’s mouth dropped open slightly, eyes darting back and forth between you and Grizzy. “Wait, what?” he stammered, confused as if he had just stumbled into the wrong dimension.

Pezzy nearly fell off the couch, clutching his stomach. “Did you just get called ‘kitten’ by Grizzy?!” he hooted, pointing an accusatory finger as if he’d just discovered the greatest scandal in streaming history.

Puffer leaned back, arms crossed and a mock-serious expression plastered on his face. “This is a plot twist nobody saw coming! I feel like I just got upgraded to a new season of ‘Reality: The Chronicles of the Clooless Boys’!”

Grizzy’s face turned a shade darker, embarrassment washing over his features like the tide. “I thought that was Pezzy blessing me!” he exclaimed, his voice rising a bit as the realization dawned on him. The laughter only escalated, everyone seizing the chance to poke fun at the blushing dad figure.

“Surprise! It wasn’t Pezzy, it was me!” you teased, leaning back with a satisfied grin as Grizzy squirmed in his seat.

“Seriously though!” Puffer interjected, “Do we need a ‘Grizzy Kittens’ merch line now? I can see the T-shirt designs already!” He threw in an exaggerated hand gesture like he was revealing the ultimate scoop, and laughter erupted once again.

Grizzy couldn’t escape the playful wave of banter that washed in; it pushed and pulled at him, the boys relentlessly teasing. “I’m just being nice; you know, wholesome and all!” he defended, though the humor of the moment was too strong.

“Well, we all need a little kitten magic in our lives!” you added with a wink, the room howling in gleeful laughter once more, Grizzy helplessly caught in the storm of camaraderie and jovial embarrassment.

As the chaos continued, Droid settled back into his role, smirking at the series of events. “What a stream this has turned out to be! I take back what I said earlier. The only chaos happening tonight is right here!”

As the laughter mellowed into a happy buzz, Pezzy announced in his signature boisterous tone, “Alright, I’m off to the restroom!” With a dramatic flourish, he hopped up from the couch, waving exaggeratedly as he made his exit. The moment his absence created a void, you felt yourself unintentionally slipping into the couch's crevice. The plush cushions seemed to invite you in, but instead of comfort, it was more akin to a gentle but insistent trap, gradually making you feel like you were disappearing into the furniture.

Wriggling to escape the unexpected embrace of the couch, you quickly realized you were getting uncomfortably confined. “Okay, this is not how couch-sinking was supposed to work,” you muttered to yourself, muscles tensing as you tried to re-adjust. Even worse, an unwanted chill crept over you as the air surged in, and your body's instinct kicked in—time for a sweatshirt.

You slipped free from the couch's clutches with a huff, making your way to the kitchen table where one of the boys had left a cozy sweatshirt lounging. As you stretched to grab it, you felt the energy buzzing behind you. Grizzy's voice broke through the casual chatter that filled the room.

“Anyone want food? I’m thinking we could get some takeout!” he called out, glancing around but pausing when you walked behind him on the couch.

You turned to respond but caught his eye just at the right moment. He looked up at you with a cheeky grin that held a mischievous glint. “I could eat you for dinner,” he said smoothly, holding your gaze with a confidence that sent your heart racing. The playful stretch of his words and the way he carried his charm had a sudden and powerful effect, leaving you blushing furiously.

Your cheeks warmed like a furnace, and thankfully for you, the microphone didn’t pick up his playful flirtation, but the live chat didn’t miss a beat. A flood of messages began popping up, teasing you with playful jabs like “Is Grizzy flirting?” and “Someone's blushing!” Streams of giggles erupted in the background, a chorus of playful mockery, while you tried to muster up a witty comeback, desperately suppressing a giddy smile.

“I—uh, well, you know, I’m more of a snack, really!” you finally managed to stutter out, your voice coming out in a rush as you hastily pulled the sweatshirt on, grateful for the added warmth and cover it provided against the teasing glances and chortles filling the room.

As you settled into your sweatshirt—a snug cocoon that shielded you from the playful teasing—Puffer patted the couch next to him, a cheeky glimmer in his eye. “Hey, come here! There’s a perfect spot right here between Grizzy and me. It’s the best seat in the house,” he said, his tone light and inviting, but with an undercurrent of mischief.

With nowhere else to go and the irresistible allure of friendly companionship pulling at you, you slid back onto the couch, positioning yourself between the two guys. The warmth of the sweatshirt contrasted with the cozy closeness of your friends, making the entire setting feel simultaneously comforting and just the right amount of chaotic.

“Now we’re all together again!” Puffer said, grinning as he leaned closer, speaking in a low voice, just for your ears. “You know, snacks are supposed to be shared,” he quipped playfully, nudging your shoulder. “Are you okay with that? Because I could totally go for some midnight munchies.”

Grizzy caught the exchange, and with impeccable timing, he threw in, still maintaining eye contact, “Yeah, if you’re one of our late-night snacks, we’d better make sure you’re well taken care of.” His expression was equal parts playful, equal parts serious, and it sent tingles of mischief running up your spine.

You bit your lip to stifle the giggle rising within you. The room was buzzing with laughter and chaos, yet it felt like you were in a little bubble, cozied up between two of your friends who were determined to shower you with attention and silliness.

Pezzy turned his focus on the stream again, casually adjusting the camera to capture the moment. “Wow, look how quickly things get spicy whenever I step away!” he teased, eliciting another round of laughter from the group. His voice interjected into your light-hearted exchanges, making the moment all the more dynamic.

Puffer leaned closer, lowering his voice further, still playing his part in the low-key flirtation. “Just be prepared; if Grizzy decides you’re a snack, we might need to set some boundaries. I don’t want to lose my favorite couch companion!” He threw an exaggerated wink your way, clearly enjoying himself.

A tranquil blanket of tiredness began to settle over the group. With the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a cozy hug, you found yourself sprawled out comfortably between Puffer and Grizzy, sipping the last bits of energy from the night. Puffer’s arm encircled your shoulders, creating a subtle but comforting presence against the backdrop of friendly chaos, while Grizzy settled in closer, an easy smile resting on his face.

Across the couch, Droid had positioned himself, half splayed over Puffer while balancing precariously in his own little kingdom of cushions. Pezzy, in his corner, had curled up like a content cat, the remnants of a lively evening wrapped softly around him like a well-worn blanket. The jovial energy had morphed into a lazy but delightful stillness.

Just as you began to float into a comfortable haze, a sudden jolt of sound erupted through the room. The unmistakable PlayStation 2 intro music blasted through the speakers, bass boosted to an almost ridiculous level. It reverberated across the walls, shaking the very air around you like a sonic tidal wave.

“Whoa! What is that?” Grizzy exclaimed, suddenly jerking awake, his eyes wide as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

Puffer groaned dramatically, ��You’ve just made my comfy couch nap a dangerous mission.”

Droid, ever the instigator, snickered from his sprawled position. “Who doesn’t love a bit of classic nostalgia, especially when it’s had a little too much to drink?” His laughter echoed through the room, amplifying the joyful chaos as Pezzy popped up with a laugh, eyes sparkling with mischief.

you nestled back against Puffer, the warmth and security of the couch embraced you like a gentle wave, lulling you into a blissful sleep. The laughter and teasing faded into a soft murmur of voices, mingling with the pulsating bass of the music still lingering in the background. You drifted off, wrapped in the cozy camaraderie of your friends and the chaotic energy of the night.

You had no idea how much time passed, but the soothing rhythm of sleep was abruptly interrupted by a loud and thunderous roar that echoed through the room. The media share had taken a sudden turn—an audio clip of a rocket taking off filled the space, its intensity jolting you out of your slumber.

“3… 2… 1… lift-off!” the announcer declared, the excitement crackling in the air as if the whole world was about to be launched into a new dimension. You immediately scrubbed the sleep from your eyes and shot up in a daze.

Droid, still sprawled out on the couch, burst into laughter, his voice bright and teasing. “Welcome back to planet earth! Did you see the launch? It was epic!” His teasing made the room feel lively again, as Grizzy stirred and let out a groggy chuckle, trying to process what had just happened.

“Oh man, I thought I was dreaming of a space adventure,” Grizzy mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Next thing I know, I’m being blasted back to reality by NASA!”

Pezzy’s corner became a flurry of movement as he sat up, brows raised in surprise. “Did we just launch a rocket, or did I miss the memo about attending a space party?!” he joked, laughter spilling from him like confetti—a feel-good ambiance that swept through the group.

You blinked repeatedly, glancing between your friends as confusion mixed with the remnants of sleep. “I just wanted to see what the cosmos looked like while peacefully napping!”

The lively chatter of your friends snapped your attention back to the present. The idea of breakfast hung in the air like a sweet aroma, and soon enough, everyone started weighing their options between the two iconic breakfast spots—IHOP, the haven of fluffy pancakes and syrup-filled wonders, and Waffle House, known for its crispy, golden waffles and hearty home-cooked meals.

“IHOP has those amazing stuffed pancakes,” Droid argued, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “Plus, can you imagine diving into a warm, maple syrup waterfall this early in the day? Pure bliss!”

Grizzy, ever the candid commentator, chimed in, “But Waffle House has that greasy charm, you know? There’s something about their hash browns smothered and covered that feels like a big, warm hug!”

Pezzy, fueled by his undeniable love for breakfast, flailed his arms playfully. “But can’t you see? At IHOP, we’ll have all those crazy pancake flavors! You can't beat the strawberry banana or the chocolate chip! Can you imagine the pancake tower we could build?” His eyes gleamed with the sweetness of delicious possibilities.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sheer enthusiasm bubbling around you, the debate energizing the air. “I love pancakes, but I also can’t say no to that crispy goodness from Waffle House,” you admitted, feeling the flavors of both places dancing on your taste buds.

“That’s true, but IHOP wins on atmosphere!” Puffer interjected, reclining in a way that suggested a fierce dedication to the cause. “I mean, it’s like entering a pancake paradise!” He gestured dramatically, as if the diners themselves were the grandest of attractions.

The excitement in the room shifted as Pezzy’s sudden pizza craving sparked new energy among the group. Everyone rallied at the idea of a late-night pizza party, the atmosphere buzzing with anticipation. The conversation swirled, mixing dreams of classic cheese slices with a sprinkle of spontaneity.

“Okay, so we’re going plain cheese, but we can’t forget the breadsticks!” you added, feeling the warmth of your friends’ camaraderie washing over you. “Dipping those in marinara sauce is a must!”

“Exactly! Those cheesy, garlicky breadsticks are the real MVPs of the meal!” Puffer nodded enthusiastically, his eyes alight with the prospect of it all. “But while we’re at it, how about we throw in some toppings for an extra dimension? We need to elevate this pizza experience!”

Grizzy shrugged, leaning back with a thoughtful expression. “I mean, if we’re playing with toppings, we could go wild. What about a little pepperoni or mushrooms?”

Pezzy’s fingers danced over his phone screen, frantically typing the order as the conversation snowballed. “Alright, so we’ve got cheese and breadsticks… what do you think about adding some pepperoni?”

“Okay, pepperoni can work,” you said, your mind flashing images of gooey cheese and spicy slices melding together. “But if we go that route, let’s be bold and sprinkle on some jalapeños too, for a little kick!”

“Now we’re talking!” Puffer exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious. “Yup, I’m in for the heat!”

With your decision solidifying, Pezzy hit the ‘order now’ button on the pizza app, sending your late-night cravings into action. The deliciousness you anticipated made your mouth water, and soon, you would all be sinking into cheesy bliss, sharing slices and stories as the night pushed on.

As the minutes passed in delightful anticipation, your friends shifted the conversation back to the topic of breakfast, discussing the point at which IHOP became the undeniable champion of pancake paradise. It was a cacophony of voices, laughter, and the occasional sleepy mumble as you settled back into the couch.

“I’ve been thinking about toppings all wrong,” Droid pondered aloud. “We could have designed the ultimate breakfast pizza, now that I think about it! Bacon, eggs, cheese… to start the day right!”

“That may be the best idea I’ve heard all night!” Pezzzy chuckled. “Wait, do you think breakfast pizza could ever work at IHOP?”

“Why not?” you said, sliding back into the playful banter that danced built upon each suggestion. “I mean, if we add a bit of syrup on top, it could be the wildest food fusion ever!”

Bursting into laughter, the idea took root in your collective imagination—an absurdly wonderful breakfast pizza that could be adorned with pancakes, bacon, and maple syrup.

“Listen, all I know is that when we hit IHOP, we might as well throw in an experimental breakfast pizza for good measure,” Grizzy proclaimed, and everyone around formed an enthusiastic cheer.

With the pizza order confirmed and the atmosphere filled with warmth and laughter, the anticipation for your dinner grew.Time passed quickly, wrapping up as the doorbell suddenly rang, heralding the arrival of your cheesy feast.

As the doorbell rang, a media share popped up of them being rick rolled. It seems like it's the 5th time tonight, and they rick rolled the pizza delivery man. Puffer, with a triumphant grin plastered on his face, returned from the door to the bustling living room, his arms a precarious tower of pizza boxes and the enticing aroma of freshly baked breadsticks wafting through the air. “Look what I have! The feast has arrived!” he announced, his belly rumbling in sync with his excitement.

As he carefully set the boxes on the coffee table, the group erupted in cheers. “And look who decided to add a little fizz to the party!” he chuckled, revealing the two-liter bottle of Sprite perched between the boxes, a secret that had remained hidden in Pezzy’s planning.

“Did you really just sneak a soda?!” Droid asked, a mix of mock indignation and amusement lighting up his face. “You know that just adds to the calories of the pizza we are about to destroy, right?”

“Exactly!” Puffer laughed, popping the lid off the soda and pouring it into cups for everyone. “More sugar and cheese equals more fun!”

With a round of cheers and an impromptu toast to indulgence, the pizza was displaced, boxes flopped open, and everyone eagerly reached for their favorite slices. Laughter bubbled over as you all revealed in the moment, recounting the hilarity of the night’s earlier rick-rolls. The latest one had been particularly epic, as you all watched your pizza delivery man, caught off guard by the iconic tune blasting from your phone.

After feasting on cheesy deliciousness and munching crispy breadsticks, you felt a gentle lull settling over the group, each of you stuffed and satisfied. It was in this peaceful atmosphere, snuggled between Droid and Puffer on the couch, that your phone buzzed, breaking the cozy ambience.

Curious, but unwilling to move from your snug position, you let it ring a few times until the buzz faded into silence. When it buzzed again, you reluctantly peeled open your eyes just enough to see your boss’s name flashing on the screen. You swiped to answer, the warmth of your friends at your side making the weight of the call feel far away.

“We need someone to cover a quick shift at the ER until morning,” your boss’s voice came, calm yet urgent. You bit your lip, contemplating. The thought of leaving this cozy gathering, the happiness thick in the air, sent a shiver of reluctance down your spine.

“No, I can’t do it tonight,” you finally said, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as you declined the request. You had a soft spot for emergencies, of course, but the memories being created tonight were just as important to you. After a brief exchange, you hung up, content in your decision.

With a little stretch, you snagged one last crust and sighed with satisfaction. There was no going back after that—your stomach was full, the laughter surrounding you was intoxicating, and the couch was simply too inviting.

As the conversation continued around you, the night drifted on, feeling heavier with warmth and comfort. You took one last bite of the delicious pizza, savoring the gooey cheese as it melted in your mouth. With a satisfied sigh, the pizza platter was polished off, and the glow of laughter filled the air as stories turned into gentle banter.

Before long, the energy of the group began to fade, little by little, until it felt like a soft blanket of peace covered the space. Unable to resist the overwhelming comfort, slumping back into the comfy cushions, you snuggled deeper between Droid and Puffer, who instinctively wrapped an arm around you. The day’s exhaustion hit you hard, drawing you into a comforting blanket of slumber.

With the sounds of laughter in the background gradually transforming into a soft murmur, your eyelids grow heavy. You surrendered to the irresistible allure of sleep, letting it pull you into a cozy oblivion, ensconced in the happiness of cherished friendships.

As your eyelids fluttered closed, the muted noise of laughter and conversations blurred into a comforting hum. You could feel the warmth radiating from your friends, each breath lulling you into a deeper calm.

In your dreams, you danced through bright halls of pancake paradise and celebrated pizza feasts with friends who understood the magic of spontaneous adventures. Just as you drifted away, you could faintly hear Puffer delivering a rendition of “Never Gonna Give You Up,” the echo of laughter blending harmoniously with the peace of your slumber.

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ijustwannabecool · 2 months ago

Text

The Fifth Seat

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary... Four lucky fans win the contest of a lifetime: a chance to join the F1 grid for media week, shadowing drivers and getting the ultimate behind-the-scenes access. But what no one knows is that there's a fifth seat—a secret winner whose name never appeared on the announcement list. She’s not a fan. She’s his wife. And their entire relationship is a secret. But not for much longer. Hidden glances. Stolen moments. A marriage no one suspects—until media week turns into a pressure cooker, and secrets start to crack under the spotlight.

A/N: I don't know what I wrote. I wrote it at 2am and feeling a little delirious lol. request are open (:

I hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you guys think in the comments. I write for free but you can donate to support my writing over on my Ko-Fi!

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

They called it the opportunity of a lifetime.

The Fifth Seat Experience—sponsored by Formula 1, endorsed by every team, plastered all over social media like the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Four lucky fans, hand-picked from thousands of entries, flown in for Media Week to shadow the drivers, get exclusive access, live like insiders.

Except there were five of us.

And I wasn’t a fan.

Well. Technically, I was. Just not in the way everyone else thought.

The other four winners were bouncing in place as we waited for our credentials outside the paddock gates—talking over each other, gasping at every car that drove past, snapping selfies like they might blink and miss someone famous.

I kept my sunglasses on and my mouth mostly shut.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t excited. I was. But it’s hard to squeal over a driver when you sleep next to one every night.

"Y/N L.," the coordinator called, her lanyard outstretched. “Guest Winner #5.”

Winner. Right. Sure.

The plastic badge felt heavier than it looked as she clipped it around my neck. I could feel the name tug at my skin.

Y/N L. Like I’d never taken another last name.

I tucked the badge into my jacket, heart thudding harder than I liked. I didn’t have a plan beyond blend in and survive. No one—not the fans, not the other winners, not even the media team buzzing around us—knew the truth.

No one knew I was married to Charles Leclerc.

And if everything went smoothly this week, no one ever would.

They assigned each of us a driver pairing. Luck of the draw.

Callie, the girl with the Mercedes hat and long acrylics, screamed when she got Lewis. Tom practically wept when he got Max. The other two, Serena and Rachel, were with McLaren and Red Bull.

I got Alpine.

Safe. Distant. Harmless.

Not Ferrari.

Not Charles.

“Bit of a bummer, huh?” Serena said sympathetically, glancing at my badge. “Alpine’s been quiet lately.”

I shrugged. “Quiet’s kind of my thing.”

She laughed and wandered off, which suited me just fine. My heart was already crawling up my throat because I could feel him before I even saw him.

It always happened like that. Some sixth sense. Some magnetic pull.

He appeared at the edge of the garage bay—white polo, sunglasses, hair slightly messier than usual like he’d been dragging his fingers through it. He was talking to someone from the team, nodding, focused.

Until he wasn’t.

Until his head tilted just slightly and his eyes landed on me.

And stayed there.

Two seconds too long.

Three.

Four.

Then, like he remembered himself, he turned back to his conversation.

I swallowed hard.

God, he was terrible at this.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of team tours, media station walkthroughs, and overexcited chitchat. I smiled politely, answered questions when asked, and avoided cameras like they were fire.

But Charles kept finding me.

Not overtly. Not dramatically.

A glance as he passed in the hallway. A half-smile in the corner of the hospitality tent. Once, I could swear he deliberately lingered behind me in the lunch line just so he could whisper, “You’re torturing me.”

I didn’t turn around.

“Don’t make it obvious,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing a croissant I didn’t want.

“I’m not,” he replied. “You look incredible, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“Y/N.”

I took my tray and walked away before my face could betray me.

This was not going to work.

Later, when the sun dipped low and the paddock began to clear out, the five of us were ushered into a small media lounge for a casual welcome session—iced teas, branded notebooks, a low-key icebreaker game.

It was fine.

Until he walked in.

The room actually shifted. Like gravity pulled everyone forward.

Charles Leclerc, fresh from interviews, sunglasses pushed into his hair, smiled politely as the coordinator announced, “And here to welcome our winners—your fan-favorite Ferrari driver!”

My breath locked in my throat.

“Oh my god,” Callie whispered.

“Charles is so much hotter in person,” Tom mumbled, not even trying to be subtle.

He waved at the group, then sat down right across from me on the low couch.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

“You all excited for Media Week?” he asked casually, accent curling around every word like sugar on the rim of a glass.

Everyone nodded. Gushed. Talked over each other.

I picked at the edge of my napkin.

Then came the icebreaker.

“Let’s go around and say one thing we’re most excited about this week,” the coordinator prompted. “I’ll start—I’m excited to see you all soak in the experience!”

Rachel: “The garage tours!”

Tom: “Meeting the drivers, obviously.”

Callie: “The paddock passes and maybe... a selfie with Charles.” She winked.

He laughed politely.

When it was my turn, I cleared my throat.

“I guess I’m just... excited to see the sport from the inside.”

Charles’s eyes met mine across the table. Just for a second.

I don’t know what I expected.

But I didn’t expect the corner of his mouth to twitch—barely—like he was holding back something.

A smile? A secret?

Something.

Then, the coordinator clapped her hands. “Perfect! You all are going to have the time of your lives.”

Everyone cheered.

And as we stood up to head back to the hotel, Charles brushed past me, just close enough to murmur—

“Careful, amour. They’re starting to notice.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving my skin buzzing, my throat tight, and my heart whispering: This week is going to ruin us.

I didn’t sleep much.

The hotel bed was comfortable enough, the room quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shout of someone stumbling back from the bar. But my brain was loud. Too loud.

I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, still hearing his voice in my ear.

Careful, amour. They’re starting to notice.

He couldn’t help himself. That was the problem. Charles Leclerc was many things—charming, reckless, maddeningly romantic—but discreet wasn’t one of them.

My phone buzzed from the nightstand.

Charles: Are you awake? Charles: Room 314.

Goddamn him.

I stared at the message. I could say no. I should say no.

Instead, I was out of bed and tiptoeing down the hallway before I could convince myself otherwise.

He opened the door like he’d been standing on the other side, waiting.

His hair was damp from a shower, curls pushed back, shirtless in nothing but black sweatpants. A gold chain rested against his collarbone, and his smile tugged slow and crooked when he saw me.

“You came.”

“You texted.”

“That’s not a no.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped inside. “We said no sneaking around.”

“We also said no falling in love, and look how that turned out.”

He said it like it didn’t still knock the air out of me every time.

Charles closed the door softly behind me, then leaned his forehead against it, sighing.

“This is torture,” he muttered.

“Media week or marriage?”

“Being married and not being able to act like it.”

I turned to him, arms crossed. “You’re the one who wanted to keep it secret.”

“Because I wanted to protect you.” He looked over his shoulder, voice quieter now. “You know what they’d do with this. With you. The articles, the headlines, the dissecting every outfit and every expression. I just wanted a little more time.”

“And this is your idea of time?” I gestured vaguely. “Throwing me into the paddock with a badge and pretending we’ve never kissed?”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room in three steps.

“Pretending we’ve never kissed is impossible.”

He kissed me then—soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that said I missed you instead of I want you.

Though, with Charles, it was usually both.

I let myself melt for a moment, my fingers curling into the hem of his shirt before I caught myself.

I pulled back. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “One more night.”

“You said that in Monaco.”

Flashback – Six Months Earlier Monaco. 10:41 a.m. Tuesday.

The Civil Registry Office smelled like lemon-scented floor cleaner and legal ink. The ceiling fans whirred overhead.

I wore a cream linen dress and held a bouquet of flowers I picked up from a corner stand on the way there. Charles wore a navy button-up and the softest expression I’d ever seen on a man.

We signed the papers in under ten minutes.

“Wait,” I said, just before he handed over the final page. “Are we really doing this?”

He smiled. Not wide. Not cocky. Sure.

“Yes,” he said simply. “And if you’re not sure, we can wait.”

I looked down at the page. Then at him. And suddenly, it didn’t feel scary. It felt like choosing the safest person in the world.

“I'm sure.”

He kissed the back of my hand as we handed it in.

We walked out married. No ring, no guests, no Instagram post.

Just... us.

I left Charles’s room just before sunrise. No one saw me. I checked. Twice.

By the time we got to the paddock, the PR team had split us up into pairs for the morning rounds. My assigned driver, Esteban, was nice enough—friendly, funny, not overly chatty. It was an easy match.

But every time we passed a certain garage, my lungs forgot how to work.

Charles was everywhere.

In the Ferrari garage. On the track walk. On the screen playing highlight reels in the lounge. I couldn’t turn around without seeing his face or hearing his laugh.

It didn’t help that he kept glancing my way. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

And it really didn’t help when Carlos came up to him after a media hit and clapped him on the back.

“So who’s the girl?” he asked with a smirk.

My blood turned to ice.

“What girl?” Charles replied, too quickly.

Carlos nodded toward me across the hospitality tent. “The quiet one. She’s pretty.”

Charles’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

I looked away before I could throw something.

By late afternoon, the paddock had cooled, shadows stretching long. Most of the group had wandered off to post content or explore the garages. I stayed behind, sipping an iced drink I didn’t want, brain spinning.

That’s when the PR girl found me.

“Oh, hey! Just a heads up, a few people were asking who you are.”

My chest tightened.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no—just curiosity. You weren’t tagged in the winner announcement, so some of the fans are like, ‘Who’s Guest #5?’” She laughed, like it was nothing. “Probably just internet sleuths doing their thing.”

I forced a smile. “Right. Totally.”

But I could feel it happening—cracks forming in the glass, light leaking through.

And the worst part?

I didn’t know if I wanted to stop it anymore.

Later that night, just before I climbed into bed, my phone buzzed again.

Charles: They think I’m flirting with a fan. Charles: I’m going to lose it. Charles: I miss you.

I stared at the screen, fingers hovering. Then I typed:

Me: Then stop pretending.

I watched the message sit. Delivered. Read.

And then nothing.

No reply.

Not that night.

Not the next morning.

Not until it was already too late.

----

Group Chat – “Fan Five 💖🏁”

Callie: anyone else notice how weird y/n was yesterday?? 👀

Tom: like, quiet weird or secret-agent weird

Rachel: she def knows someone. you saw her talking to a ferrari guy right??

Serena: nah that was charles leclerc 🫢🫢🫢

Tom: YOU'RE LYING

Serena: not joking. i went back through my stories—she was with him near the media tent. paused the vid. they were talking close-close

Callie: hold up i’m checking tumblr

Tumblr Post 📸: [image attached] 👤: f1-unfiltered “who tf is this girl Charles is chatting with in the media lounge?? she wasn’t on the winner list 👀 anyone know her @?? #charlesleclerc #fifthseat #mediaweek”

🗨️ top comment: “he’s totally checking her out. look at his face omg”

🗨️ second comment: “are we getting a Charles soft launch????”

🗨️ third comment: “her lanyard says Guest #5… we missed one 😭”

Twitter (X) @f1teaofficial 👀 something’s brewing. who is mystery “Guest Winner #5”? we’ve confirmed she wasn’t in the original contest posts… #fifthseat #f1drama #charlesleclerc

⬇️ Photo Attachment: blurry screenshot of Y/N and Charles mid-conversation

Private Messages – Charles → Y/N 9:47 AM I’m sorry. I saw it. The post. They think I’m flirting with you.

10:02 AM I hate this. I hate not being able to tell them you're mine.

10:17 AM Please say something.

Voicemail – Left at 11:26 AM "It’s me. I know you’re mad. I don’t blame you. I should’ve protected us better. I let the cameras turn you into a stranger. And I hate that. I love you. I love you, and I don’t care who knows it anymore. If you want to end this, I’ll respect it. But if there’s even a small part of you that still wants me to fight for us—please, just... call me back.”

Text – Y/N → Charles (unsent) You said you’d protect me. But I’ve never felt more alone.

Drafted Notes App Entry – Y/N Title: If They Find Out

They’ll say I used him.

They’ll say I didn’t deserve him.

They’ll say it was a stunt.

They’ll tear me apart.

But I love him. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.

Instagram Story – @scuderiaferrari 🎥 “Behind-the-scenes at Media Week Day 2!” Pausing at 0:41 reveals Charles, standing off to the side, watching something—or someone—just off camera. Blink and you miss it: a small gold band on his left ring finger.

---

There’s a kind of silence that only happens in chaos.

Like when your ears ring after a crash, or when the world tilts just a little too far to the left. That’s what it felt like in the paddock the morning the photo dropped.

Not an explosion. Not a scream. Just a silence so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.

Everywhere I went, I felt it. The glances. The hush when I passed. The way even the media team looked at my lanyard a beat too long before waving me through.

Guest Winner #5 was no longer anonymous.

And Charles— Charles was furious.

I didn’t see him until the mid-morning break. I was on my way out of the Alpine garage when someone caught my wrist and gently pulled me around the corner.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me like he hadn’t slept.

“Hi,” I said, softly. Too softly.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said. His voice was rough. Tight.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

He let go of my wrist. Stepped back like I’d burned him.

“I should’ve said something from the start,” he muttered. “We should’ve owned it.”

“No, Charles,” I snapped. “You said we should keep it quiet. You said—‘just one season, let me keep you safe.’”

“And I was wrong.”

That shut me up.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I saw the post. The edits. They’re tearing you apart already and they don’t even knowyou.”

My throat tightened. “They never were going to be kind.”

“I don’t care if they’re kind.” He stepped closer. “I care if they hurt you.”

God, he looked wrecked.

And I wanted—more than anything—to kiss him. To close the distance and forget the rest of the world existed.

But I couldn’t.

So I whispered, “Then let me go.”

His face broke open like glass.

“No.”

“Charles.”

“No.” His voice cracked. “You can’t ask me to pretend you don’t belong to me. Not after everything.”

“I’m asking you to protect me. And if the only way to do that is by stepping away—”

He kissed me.

Fast. Desperate. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because it was already falling apart.

I melted. Fought it. Melted again.

But we were still in the paddock. Still surrounded by cameras, journalists, fans.

And I pulled away just before it became a headline.

“We can’t do this here,” I breathed.

“Then come with me.”

“What?”

“Now. Just—just come with me. Five minutes. No one will notice.”

I hesitated. The badge around my neck felt like a noose.

But I followed him anyway.

He led me through the back of the hospitality tent, past the fake plants and behind a row of stacked crates, where no cameras pointed and no PR eyes roamed.

A supply closet. Of course.

It was dark. Cramped. Smelled like rubber gloves and microfiber.

He shut the door behind us and leaned against it like he was trying to breathe.

“I feel like I’m going to lose you.”

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Why now?” I whispered. “Why is this the moment you suddenly want to tell the world?”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then—

“Because I watched you lie in that welcome lounge. I watched you say you were excited to see the sport from the inside like you weren’t already part of my world. Like you didn’t wake up next to me three days ago.”

He stepped forward, eyes burning.

“And I hated it.”

“Charles…”

“I hated pretending we didn’t mean something to each other. I hated hearing them talk about you like you were just some fan. I hated the way Carlos looked at you. I hated how beautiful you looked and how I couldn’t even touch you.”

I swallowed hard.

“I hated that too.”

“So then let’s stop.”

“Stop hiding?”

“Stop lying.”

My heart was beating like a drum in my ears.

“You really want to do this?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

“Yes.”

And that’s when we heard it.

The voice outside the door. Someone calling his name.

“Charles? You back here?”

We froze.

He looked at me, eyes wide.

I looked at the floor. The walls. The door.

My fingers found the lock. Clicked it open.

And just before I stepped out, I looked back and whispered:

“Then do it. Say something. Or this is the last time I follow you.”

I left him standing there—speechless, shirt rumpled, heart in his throat.

And I didn’t look back.

By evening, the internet had moved on.

Sort of.

They’d stopped asking who I was.

Now they were asking something else.

“Why is Ferrari so quiet today?” “Where is Charles Leclerc?” “Is Guest #5 even a real fan?” “This week is feeling scripted.”

And just when I thought maybe things were calming down...

I saw the photo.

It was blurry. Candid. Taken from a distance.

Charles. Standing alone near the pit wall.

Holding something in his hand.

A ring.

My ring.

Flashback — Six months earlier Monaco, the night after the wedding

The courthouse was already closed. The florist stand where I bought my bouquet had packed up and gone home. The streets were glowing, just barely damp from a midday rain, and the city felt like it had exhaled.

And I was married.

To him.

To Charles.

We didn’t throw a party. No cake. No fireworks. Just a hotel suite high above the harbor and a bottle of champagne neither of us had planned on but somehow ended up with anyway.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” I whispered, toeing off my sandals as he unlocked the room.

“I can.” His smile was lazy, wide. “I’d do it again right now if we hadn’t just paid the filing fee.”

The room was warm. Gold lamplight, cream linens, a view of the marina that looked like something out of a painting. I walked to the window and pressed my fingers to the glass.

Down below, life was buzzing. Music. Laughter. Everything too far away to touch.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I just... didn’t expect to feel this calm.”

“Marrying me is calming? That’s a new one.”

“Shut up,” I said, but I was smiling.

I heard the soft pop of the champagne cork and turned around just in time to see the foam spill over his fingers.

“Smooth,” I said.

“I’m rusty. I haven’t had a reason to celebrate in a while.”

He poured two glasses and crossed the room, handing me one with a small clink.

“To what?” I asked.

He looked at me, then at the tiny band of gold now resting on my finger.

“To the quiet kind of forever.”

I blinked once. Twice. Then I clinked my glass to his.

“To us.”

We didn’t drink right away. He leaned down and kissed me first—slow, warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way I felt under his hands tonight.

“Mon amour,” he murmured. “Ma femme.”

His wife.

I kissed him back like that name had always been mine.

Later, I was wrapped in sheets, tucked against his bare chest, legs tangled and lips swollen, both of us laughing over something dumb we couldn’t even remember anymore.

The window was open, letting in the soft hum of the city and the faint smell of ocean salt.

Charles traced lazy shapes on my back.

“Do you think they’ll find out?” I asked.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“They’ll guess,” he said. “Eventually.”

“But not yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

He kissed the crown of my head. “Because I want to keep this—you—to myself for a little longer.”

“Selfish.”

“Absolutely.”

I turned to face him, cheek pressed to the pillow.

“I don’t want to hide forever.”

“You won’t have to.”

“But when it starts—when they know—”

“I’ll handle it.” He brushed his knuckles along my jaw. “I’ll take every hit if it means you don’t have to.”

My throat tightened. “You can’t protect me from all of it.”

“Maybe not. But I can try.”

And then he pulled me close again, tucked under his chin, his voice barely audible.

“I want a life with you. Not just a ring and a secret. A life.”

My eyes stung.

“I want that too.”

He held me tighter.

“Then we’ll build it. Slowly. Quietly. Until one day... no one’s surprised to see you in my garage. Or on my arm. Or wearing my name.”

“Not even the media?”

He smiled against my temple. “Especially them.”

We didn’t fall asleep until after 3 a.m.

And just before I closed my eyes, I looked at the clock glowing faintly on the nightstand.

11:11.

Make a wish, I thought.

I didn’t need to.

He was already mine.

There were three microphones on the table.

Three cameras aimed straight at my face.

Four other fan winners.

Twelve journalists.

And one Charles Leclerc.

Seated exactly two chairs away from me.

I could feel him more than I could see him—his presence like a magnet I was desperately trying not to lean toward. His voice when he answered a question was low and measured, but there was tension behind it. Like he was holding his breath every time someone said my name.

Because yes—this press conference?

It wasn’t just about the drivers anymore.

It was about us.

“Let’s talk about the now-viral Fifth Seat post,” the moderator said, glancing at the cards. “There’s been a lot of speculation about Guest Winner #5—Y/N, right?”

I smiled, as calmly as I could. “That’s me.”

The room chuckled, polite but interested. Someone’s pen scratched loudly against a notepad.

“You’ve been paired with Alpine, but fans noticed some interaction with the Ferrari garage. Care to share what that’s about?”

I didn’t look at Charles.

I looked directly at the moderator, and I lied.

“I was lost. Someone pointed me in the wrong direction. That’s all.”

He smiled like he bought it. Charles didn’t move. But I saw the way his hands curled into fists on the table.

Liar, liar, ring finger on fire.

The rest of the conference passed in a blur. Questions about team dynamics, fan engagement, media perception. I said what I needed to say. Charles said very little.

And then came the final question.

“For all five guests—if you could spend a full day with any driver, who would it be?”

Everyone turned toward us.

Callie answered first. “Lewis, obviously.”

Tom said Max. Serena picked Oscar. Rachel said Carlos and then blushed bright red when he grinned.

And then it was my turn.

My mouth opened. My heart thundered. I looked straight at the cameras and said:

“Esteban’s been amazing. I wouldn’t trade my assignment for anyone.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.

Charles flinch.

Barely. But it was there.

A fraction of a second. A wound split wide open on camera.

The moderator wrapped up. Everyone clapped.

The moment I stood to leave, a hand caught my wrist.

Charles.

We were behind the curtain, out of view but not out of range. His eyes were sharp, glassy with something that looked a lot like heartbreak.

“You don’t have to lie for me anymore,” he said. Quiet. Bitter.

I pulled my arm back. “You said you wanted to protect me.”

“Not like this.”

And then he kissed me.

In full view of the other fan winners.

In full view of the PR team.

In full view of the Ferrari social media intern, who audibly gasped behind her phone screen.

It was soft. Quick. But it was a statement.

When he pulled back, his voice didn’t shake.

“We’re done pretending.”

Ten minutes later, the Ferrari garage was in full-blown crisis mode.

“Are you insane?” the team manager asked.

Charles shrugged. “A little.”

I stood beside him, fingers linked tightly through his.

The PR rep was pacing. “Do you want to crash the website? Break the internet? Do you know what you just did?”

He looked at me. Then back at them.

“Yes.”

The intern finally spoke up from the corner. “Do you want us to, like... post something?”

Charles didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

I squeezed his hand. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

Then looked straight into the camera.

“She’s not a fan. She’s my wife.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

---

Instagram Post – @charles_leclerc 📸: black and white photo Charles, in a suit. Me, barefoot in that cream linen dress. Holding hands on the courthouse steps.

Caption: Monaco. Six months ago. We didn’t do it for the press. We did it for us. ❤️

Twitter/X Explodes

🔥 trending: CHARLES LECLERC 🔥 trending: FIFTH SEAT 🔥 trending: “she’s his WHAT?” 🔥 trending: MA FEMME

Back in the paddock, later that night

I sat next to Charles on the pit wall. No cameras this time. No fans. Just the low rumble of tires being rolled back to the garage and the buzz of lights overhead.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “You okay?”

I let out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

“Too much?”

“Maybe.”

“Regrets?”

I turned to him. Let my hand find his.

“No. Not if it means I can hold your hand in public.”

He smiled—really smiled. The kind that started in his chest and bloomed onto his face like sunlight.

“You’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ve always been stuck with you.”

And this time, when he kissed me, no one interrupted.

No flashbulbs. No questions. No more hiding.

Just him. Just me. Just us.

---

Epilogue

The Best Seat in the House Six months later — Monza Grand Prix

The roar of the crowd was thunder in my chest.

Pit lane buzzed with its usual chaos—mechanics darting, tires rolling, cameras clicking like shutters could stop time. I adjusted my headset and tried not to look too giddy as the Ferrari engineers handed me a branded clipboard.

I wasn’t technically staff. But I wasn’t just a guest anymore, either.

“Looking official, Madame Leclerc,” someone teased as I passed.

I smiled. “Don’t I always?”

It had taken time, but people got used to me. The media storm passed. The internet’s curiosity dulled into mild fascination. I stopped being “Guest #5” and started being his.

His wife. His person. His home base between podiums and paddocks.

And now, every few races, I joined him on the road—not as a secret, but as a fixture. Quiet. Steady. Gold band glinting under fluorescent lights and camera flashes.

“Y/N.” His voice crackled through my headset.

I turned toward the monitors, where his car blinked red and white on the map.

“Oui, mon amour?”

“Look up.”

I tilted my head just in time to see his car glide past the pit wall during the formation lap. The Ferrari slowed for just a heartbeat—and in the split-second he passed my section, he lifted his hand off the wheel and held up—

Two fingers.

A peace sign?

No.

A V.

I laughed into the mic. “Victory?”

“No,” he said. “V for Valentine.”

God, he was ridiculous.

“Focus, Leclerc.”

“Always. Especially when you’re here.”

He sped off.

I turned to the monitors, heart racing, hands tight around the clipboard I wasn’t actually using.

Beside me, the Ferrari PR girl grinned. “You nervous?”

“No,” I said honestly. “Not about him.”

The lights dropped. The crowd screamed. The cars launched.

And I stayed right where I was.

Watching. Rooting. Loving.

Because I didn’t need the fifth seat anymore.

I already had the best one—

Right beside him.

-----

The end.

597 notes · View notes

live-laugh-lenney · 3 months ago

Note

hi love! I’m obsessed with the way you write🤍 just wanted to make a little request if that’s okay! (Totally optional) I just had in mind how sweet and romantic it would be if George was having a terrible day (for any reason) and he’s down and gloomy about it, but the reader (a friend of his) takes care of him and makes sure he’s okay and long story short they fall in love and end up doing it on his couch while Arthur and Chris are away. I was honestly just craving something soppy, sweet and smuttyyyy 🤍🤍

summary; george has had a bad day and yn tries to cheer him up... with a house to themselves, anything was on the cards.

word count; 4.6k.

** warnings; smut (almost from the beginning), unprotected sex, female-receiving oral, sickening fluff and confessions towards the end, MINORS DNI **

so this was going to be something that was going to be short and quick but... well... it's ended up being quite long and i'm really pleased with how it turned out. it's been a few weeks in the making (ever since the prompt came in) and i hope i've done it some justice because i think the friends-to-lovers trope has to be one of my favourite stories to write... it turned out a little different to what was written as the prompt but i hope i managed to, at least, follow it to some degree. i have so much going on right now, in terms of writing, that i'm all over the place and have no schedule to which i'm following but i'm really in deep with my george feels right now and i'm desperate to get as much stuff out for him as possible to feed into the feelings. let me know what you think! enjoy! x

"what's the long face for?"

"huh?"

she pokes at his cheek with her finger in an attempt to entice a smile from him, one of his teeth-bearing grins that had his eyes crinkle up from amusement, but her hand is met with a gentle shove. pushing her arm away from his face, her fingertip lingering in the air, and yn can't help but roll her eyes at how he must been feeling sorry for himself over something silly that had happened.

"you're being a proper grump today, aren't you?"

"m'not," he folds his arms over his chest and focuses on the telly that was playing an old episode of doctor who, something he would only watch when he needed to forget about a tough day and wanted some comfort in a tv show he had already watched, "i'm not grumpy."

"tell that to your face then."

he rolls his eyes heavily.

truth be told, he was grumpy and he knew that she knew he was so there wasn't any point in trying to hide his feelings. yet he just didn't want to speak about what was causing his upset.

he'd heard through the grapevine that a brand trip was coming up for a large brand that he'd worked with during his early days of content creation, where they were getting the majority together to celebrate a milestone for this said brand, yet his invitation hadn't been seen in the post or through his emails nor through his management.

evident to him that he wasn't one of those included.

and it was silly of him to get upset because he could fly himself out to wherever they'd gone and have, himself, a holiday of a lifetime... he just felt a little left out. and he definitely wasn't going to let his best friend know of that.

"are you missing your boyfriend?"

"what?"

"sorry, i meant to say boyfriends. plural. boyfriends with an s."

"did you come over to annoy me or did you come over to actually keep me company tonight?" george asks and, for the first time in a long time, he looks over at her and she can see the glum look in his eyes, "because if it's the former, i'm not in the mood for that."

"oh," yn frowns heavily, retracting herself from being snuggled into his side and folding her arms over her chest, "okay."

there's a heavy silence that swallows the both of them.

an awkward and tense silence, that made the atmosphere thick and unbearable, with the conversation between the characters on the television being the only thing to fill it. she can feel his eyes burning holes in the side of her head but she refuses to look at him... his tone felt off with her and she didn't want to make it any worse.

"yn..."

her eyes stay focused on the television but she can feel his body move beside her, mirroring how she was previously sat beside him, his body weight shifting the pillow beneath her as he closed the gap between them.

and she tried her hardest to keep her eyes on david tennant as he ran on the screen with some make-believe monster chasing behind him, focusing her attention on anything but the man beside her

"yn, i'm sorry."

"i'm just trying to make you feel better, george. you don't need to bite my head off or push me away and hope i'll leave you alone to wallow in your self pity," she bites back at him and he turns his upper body to face her, arm resting on the back of sofa and he propped his head up with the palm of his hand, "i get you don't want to talk about what it is that has pissed you off. cool. fine with me. but i just wanted to let you know i was here."

george's face softens as he looks at her; whilst she watched the telly, he was watching her. the way the light of the television screen caught in her eyes, the way her cheeks had darkened in colour, the way her eyebrows were pinched together in annoyance at him. he straightens his arm out and his hand cups the back of her head, thumb stroking the strands of her hair in delicate motions, and he can see how she's fighting the urge to lean into his touch.

"don't be mad at me."

silence.

"yn, please. i said i was sorry, please don't be angry with me."

he caught the lingering side-eye that she gave him and a smirk toyed at his lips.

"i'll get on my knees and beg for you not to be mad at me, if i have to," he states and the hollow of her cheek became a dimple as she chewed on the flesh inside her mouth, "oh, i see how it is. you want me to beg, don't you?"

the cushions move beside her and she's jostled around as he stands himself up from the sofa and, suddenly, a wave of cool air replaces the heat from his body that he emitted. the television being hidden behind his body and he adjusted the t-shirt that had ridden up his body and had become untucked from his jeans. and she really can't look away from him when he's kneeling before her.

she tries to keep the annoyed look on her face... except... it was hard when he knelt down in front of her, hands flat on her thighs, with a look in his eyes that held a lot more than apologies.

"please, stop ignoring me. i can't deal with it," he whispers, his eyes are level with hers and his orbs are a darker shade than normal, and she can sense her own mirroring his demeanour, "i need you to look at me, i need you to talk to me, i need you to stop being so annoyed with me because i'm an idiot."

his fingers were dangerously close to a zone that would have her like putty in his hands, melting into the cushions around her, completely at his disposal.

"jesus christ," he grumbles lowly, like he needed a pep-talk with his mind to confess what he needed to say, "i need you, yn."

her throat goes dry, her stomach doing flips, and she tenses her legs so tight that he must have felt a change under his palms as they sat on her thighs. a gulp filling the silent room. she couldn't work out the meaning behind his words, the look in his eyes nor how the room had changed into something hotter and more suffocating.

"what?"

"don't tell me you don't feel the same," he murmurs quietly; and she would have scolded herself and called herself a fool if she shook her head in response to him, "i can see the look in your eyes when you look at me. the way you tense in the palms of my hands. i'm far too comfortable around you now, yn, so whatever is going on here then i'm down for it. whatever it is that happens. i'm game, if you are."

she painted a look of dumbfound on her face as she continues to look at the television screen, pretending not to have a clue on what he was insinuating, because she wanted to hear him say it. loud and clear. because that would be the final pull of the rope to unravel the knot that was forming in her gut.

"what do you think is happening?"

"you tell me," she whispers softly, her attention still purely on david tennant as he pressed the buttons on the console of the tardis on the screen, "you can't be mad at me and push me away then act like you want me, george. that's what dicks do. you're playing around and that is not okay."

"i'll show you what a dick can do," he taunts titillatingly and her eyes widen as his brash statement, "let me show you. you clearly need a refresh on how good a dick can be."

and, for the first time after their mini argument, she looks him dead in the eyes and her breath catches in her throat, his thumbs stroking at the fabric of her gym shorts - that she wore for comfort and lounging around - but a little too close to the heat between her thighs. the way his eyes were burning holes in her face from how intense his stare was upon her, the feeling of his hands on her thighs becoming much heavier and even harder to ignore, and she was crumbling before him with every second that passed.

with each second that passed, the silence between them became almost unbearable and she was getting hot as she sat before him on the sofa, not an inkling of movement coming from her as she felt his hands slowly, almost achingly, glide up her thighs and cup her hips.

"will you let me show you?"

she nods tentatively; what the hell was happening?

the night had started out as a cosy evening in george's flat, since both chris and arthur were away for separate events that seemed to fall at the same time, in front of the television with some takeaway on the coffee table and a bottle of wine being shared between the two of them, as she gave him company whilst he was feeling low. so she wasn't expecting the night to take a complete turn just a couple of hours in.

gulping back the thick lump in her throat as she felt his fingers make their way into the waistband of her shorts, pushing up on the soles of her feet so he had it easy to pull the material from her lower half, a tingle tickling up her spine at the cool air that hit her warm skin as well as the heat that had formed a dampened patch in the crotch of her knickers.

"shouldn't it be the other way around?"

he shakes his head and slots himself between her legs, wrapping his hands around her calves and pulling on them to have her lower on the sofa, his face becoming eye-level with the one crevice of her body that he was craving to dip his tongue into. allowing her legs to hang over his shoulder, her heels colliding with his back as they hung loose behind him, and the position brought a twitch to his already hard cock.

"but you're the one who's had a bad day," she insists, his fingers being ever so delicate as they freed her bundle of nerves from the material of her knickers, "it should be me making you feel the way you're making me feel right now."

"and how am i making you feel?"

"you know exactly what you're doing to me, clarkey," and her breath catches in her throat at the feeling of his warm breath hitting her moistened folds, "i want to make you feel like this."

"how do you know i don't feel the same?" he questions her, her scent being enough to bring flutters to his belly and making him almost burst in his tracksuit joggers but he was determined to wait until the right time to bring out his build-up release, "you drive me crazy."

"i want to make- fuck," there's a harsh shiver that runs up her spine before goosebumps rise on the surface of her skin, her fingers gripping into the sofa cushion beneath her once she felt his tongue lick a stripe between her folds, the hair on his upper lip dragging across her neat and groomed mound but the hair of his beard tickling at her inner thighs as he devours her core, "christ, clarkey."

her words on enticed him further.

the tip of his tongue flick at the bundle of nerves, his soft lips wrap follow in suit, suckling and flicking rhythmically as he held her hips in place. her hands finding their place in his hair, pushing back his fringe as she curled her fingers into the soft strands, gripping tight with each and ever jerk she wanted to give out from her hips. her head rolling back against the cushion behind her, eyes squeezed shut, her knees tensing and her toes curling in her socks as they hung over his shoulders.

he removes a hand from her hip, keeping one firm to her waist, and he brings it down between her legs, pulling away briefly to allow time for a breather but he wasn't about to stop for a moment. his thumb being magnetised to her nerves, rubbing slow figure-of-eights in a gentle yet consistent motion, fingers teasing at her entrance. and she was desperate to feel his fingers deep within her, brushing over the spots that would have her writhing and crying out for pleasure.

"what do you want me to do? tell me," he croaks, his lips damp from a mixture of her pre-release and her juices and he looked delectable and drunk on the taste of her, eyes heavy and hooded, "what do you want?"

"your hands," she begs, looking at him through hooded eyes and the eye contact was enough for her to melt into the sofa. and he wastes no time in sliding two digits into her, his eyes barely leaving hers as he watches her face contort into an absolute state of pure ecstasy, "fucking-"

he smirks at the sight before him and watches as her head rolls back, smug written across his features because he had her like jelly in the palm of his hands, the sounds eliciting from her driving him to continue with the same pace and the same motions because it was clearly making her satisfied.

"clarkey, i-" she whines out loud, the sounds coming from between her thighs sounded sloppy and wet and he could tell she was on the verge of releasing the built-up pleasure that was ready to burst from within, "-i'm gon'a-"

"go on," he coaxes her, quickening the pace of his wrist in hopes it got her to her climax quicker because he was desperate for a release of his own, his hardening length throbbing more intensely behind his joggers, "come on, darling. i know you want to come for me."

and that was all it took, along with the quickened pace of his wrist and the way his fingers curled up and hit the spot within her that made her writhe around, for her to release around his digits. her walls clenching, unclenching, tightening around him with a string of pure profanities rolling off her tongue as her hands grip tighter at his hair.

"george-"

he shushes her softly.

his name sounded broken as it left her lips and in that moment, as she lay in her post-climax state before him, he just wanted to drink her all in. her hair was slightly messed and knotty from the way her head had rolled back constantly through her pleasure, her knuckles were white from the grip she had upon the strands of his hair, and her eyes were glossy and the stare she held upon him was dark and there was a hint of neediness deep within. his fingers were sweet enough to cover her up, delicate as they touched her skin, and he could feel the shaking of her limbs as she worked through the last bit of her orgasm.

"you're so pretty," he whispers, removing his hand from her hip and he brought it up to her cheek, caressing the skin softly as he swipes his thumb beneath her eye to collect the moisture that had dribbled from her eye, "so pretty when you come."

she smiles lopsidedly and he moves away from her, her legs flopping to the floor and her feet land with a thud on the carpet, watching him as he manoeuvred from the floor to the sofa beside her, an evident reaction that wasn't well hidden by the bagginess of the joggers on his lower half.

"your turn?" she asks him with a grin that sat cheekily on her mouth, sitting herself up and twisting her body to look at him, "let me repay the favour."

"i don't think i can wait any longer," he says lowly, almost like a growl that came from low within his chest and he watches her intently as she pulls her hair back and ties it into a messy bun to keep it from getting in the way, freeing up and exposing her neck and the stretch of skin between her collarbones and her ears, somewhere he wanted to hide his face and leave marks behind to let people know she was a taken women... even though, truthfully, she wasn't. her fingers went quick to his joggers and he offers her a helping hand, pulling them free from his waist and kicking them off, leaving only his boxers to keep little to the imagination, "a blowie can wait, darling. i don't think i can stand not being deep inside you for another second."

"but-"

"next time," he promises her and she wants to frown, she wants to pout, and she wants to get upset over how she couldn't repay the favour to him... but when he frees his cock from the tight constraints of his boxer shorts, watching as it twitches at the chill in the air and bobs free, all the upset feelings seemed to disappear. a hungry and needy feeling forming in her gut as she watches him jerk his length a few times before he offered his lap to her, "c'mon. i'm getting cold over here."

she swings a leg over and hovers above his hardening cock, hands resting on his shoulders, his fingers slide the crotch of her knickers across and she slowly lowers herself down.

"clarkey, what are we doing?"

"we're just having some fun," he tells her and she gulps back the lump in her throat that had formed at the anticipation and how it had dawned upon her just what was happening in that moment, "right? you, uh- you do want this?"

she nods erratically, "more than you know. i just- i don't know."

because thinking about george and how he would treat a woman in bed was all she could think about sometimes. laid in bed with her mind running wild as she teased herself. thinking about just how much she wanted to be that lucky lady who got to share the bed with him, the one who was lucky enough to see him in his post-sex haze, the one who was lucky enough to feel the pleasure and satisfaction that he had to offer.

but there was some guilt that sat deep at the back of her mind; they were best friends. she shouldn't have feelings for him. and she hated how those feelings brought out all kinds of emotions when it came to him. jealousy whenever she saw another woman talking to him or touching him in a way she wanted to, upset when he came home with news of a date he had set up with someone off of a dating app but happiness when they didn't pan out so well and he chose to give up for a while, lust when he was looking a little too good for a night out, and desire to be the hopeful one he went home with.

he had a hold on her and she hated not knowing if he felt the same.

she lowers her hips down, his hand guiding the tip of his cock across the entrance between her folds, yet another shiver travelling up her spine. she'd wanted this for so long, so had he, yet neither of them were about to admit to that. and she could feel the burning stretch as she welcomed him in, her release from moments ago adding enough slip for him to glide in without any need of a thrust of his hips. his hands cupping her backside, a palm on each bum cheek, and that was all it took for her to sink down and feel her thighs flush against his own.

"it's all on you. you control the pace," he shudders as he speaks and she nods softly, forearms resting on his shoulders as her hands come to play with the curls of his mullet at the back of his head, "whenever you're ready."

it didn't take her long before she was pushing up on her knees and grinding her hips in circular movements on his cock, his legs tensing and his fingers digging into the flesh of her bum, leaving behind tiny crescent-shaped indents from where his fingernails were gripped to her skin. his head rolling back, eyes closed, revealing the adam's apple that was bobbing in his throat from each thick gulp he took as he tried to contain the moans and groans that were threatening to spill from his mouth.

not that he had any reason to be quiet.

they had the flat to themselves with arthur and chris being away yet the thought of someone being able to walk through the front door and see the sight before them of yn sat so beautifully upon his lap, well... it was enough to keep driving him on. the thrill of being caught was enticing enough.

his moans were guttural with every movement she made and she needed him to be more vocal, wanted to hear how happy he felt, she needed something to spur her on. the way he filled her up, stretched her in the most pleasurable way possible, had her emotions at an all-time high and she didn't want it to end. his hands were on her hips, barely moving as she did most of the work, only acting as support for when her legs got a little too tired.

"you feel so good," he groans through gritted teeth, his eyes soon opening and falling to the soft mounds beneath her t-shirt, trained on the way they bounced with each up and down motion she made on his cock, wanting nothing more than to bury his face between them and call himself 'at home', "god, you're so good."

she grins in response, feeling herself clench tightly around him, eliciting a hiss from his mouth at how he wasn't expecting to feel it. the sounds of their breathing being drowned out by the sloppy sound coming from between them as well as the sound of the bare skin of their thighs slapping together with each ride.

and they weren't sure if it was because the moment was so good and highly anticipated but neither one of them wanted to hold on for much longer. his fingers digging into her bum, yet again, as he tried to hold back on his release... but it was becoming increasingly hard when she teased him by clenching around him.

"if you wan'a-" she gulps back the dryness of her throat and he nods, barely able to make a sound as she drags her hand down his clothed chest and made fists in the material, "i need to-"

"if you go, i go," he entices her, "let go if you need to."

and that was all it took for her to break apart on top of him, her hips and her once-rhythmic motions becoming a little off and he could feel her walls tightening as she rode through her orgasm, her head thrown back and her hair falling loose from the messy bun she'd thrown it into just prior to their sensual activity, hands tightening on her bum to keep her from falling backwards and into the empty takeaway containers on the table. her fists still holding tight to his tee.

and he was soon following suit.

white hot euphoria rippling through his insides as he spurts strong jets of white release into her, tensing his thighs and thrusting his hips upwards to paint the entirety of her insides with his orgasm. reaching spots that had her whining out from being overstimulated, her legs shaking and her eyes watering, his own becoming glossy.

"bloody hell," he croaks, a tired laugh escaping through the heavy panting leaving his chest, "that was-"

"clarkey, i have no idea how you aren't fucking on the regular," yn says as the words come out staggered and drawn out from the heavy pants coming from her chest, "what's holding you back?"

"not a what, it's a who."

"pardon?"

"who's holding me back, that should be the question," he looks at her and hopes she understands just what he was hinting at; post-sex had him softening, almost like it was an outer-body experience because he had no control over the words falling from his mouth, "i think i'm falling in love with someone. it's a who holding me back, not a what."

"oh."

the guilt settled in her stomach and it felt for her to be sat on his lap, his release dribbling from within her as his cock was sandwiched in between their bodies, her arms loosening around his neck and she wanted to lift her head from his chest. but his arms stayed tight around her middle, holding her close, feeling how she'd tensed up at the mere thought of there being someone else.

of course there was someone else.

george was an insanely attractive man with a good sense of humour and a way with words that would drive any woman crazy. if so much of a glance went in their direction, they would turn into a puddle on the floor with how his gaze held so much intensity behind it.

"it's you, you muppet," he confesses into her shoulder, dragging his fingers up and down her spine in a soothing manner, "it's always been you, yn. there's not been a single day that goes by where i haven't thought about being with you in the way we've been together tonight. i don't know what i was thinking when i told myself to wait before i did anything stupidly quick in making you mine."

she pulls away from him, enough to be able to look him in the eyes, his breath now back to it's usual rhythm yet somehow, her's seemed to get quicker. the hold he had upon her was one that was tight, like she would do anything he asked her to. his eyes were hooded, he was sleepy-looking, and she really revelled in the way post-sex looked on him.

"i'm so glad," she breathes out a shaky laugh and her fingers twist softly into his hair, "i don't think i'd be able to look at your after tonight and know there was someone else you were thinking about."

"does this mean-"

"yes," she interrupts him, almost immediately, "it's always been you, clarkey. i've been waiting for you to make a move so i didn't ruin what we had between us. i value you too much to ever lose you to anyone else over something so... juvenile."

"oh, you wanted me to ruin our friendship?" he asks with a smirk on his lips and she frowns at him, eyebrows pinching together, "i'm just glad you feel the same way or else this," he motions between the two of them and it was only then that she realised how close both of them really were... his cock no longer erect but was still glistening from both of their releases and she was still radiating heat that he could feel across his thighs, "this would have been very awkward."

she pushes his chest with a heavy palm and rolls her eyes, only to have him wrap his hand around her wrist, pulling her back to his body and she nestles her head back into the crook of his neck.

"whatever this means, whatever happens next between us, we'll take it slow. we can just enjoy each other without the heaviness of being a couple just to see where we want this to go," he suggests and she nods in agreement, "but this night? it's not going forgotten."

476 notes · View notes

neonbonded · 2 months ago

Text

You Packed What In My Lunch?

♡ ft. LADSx fem!reader ♡ cw: suggestive lunchbox notes, public flustering, deeply unprofessional behavior, horny male leads on the brink, chaotic wife energy, implied smut, 18+ ♡ a/n: it started with a love note. Congrats, you’re the reason none of them can eat in public anymore. (Just something small and short)

Caleb

It started off innocent.

A cute note. A smiley face. A “Good luck, lovebug ♡” scribbled in pink gel pen on a sticky note pressed against the inside of his lunch container. Caleb had found it during mission briefing, pulled it out with a big dumb grin on his face, and showed it to everyone like you’d just sent him a medal.

But then?

You escalated.

Monday: a heart-shaped PB&J and a flirty “Don’t forget what’s waiting for you at home 😉” note.

Tuesday: strawberries sliced into flowers and a cartoon doodle of you both in bed—with a lot of hearts and a slightly suspicious lump under the blanket.

Wednesday: spicy noodles and a very detailed message about what else you’d like to be slurped later.

Thursday?

You went nuclear.

Because he opens his lunch in the Farspace mess hall—packed with pilots, staff, and top-level officers—and tucked between his Tupperware and chopsticks is a full polaroid of you wearing nothing but his flight jacket and a suggestive smirk.

The back of the polaroid says:

“If you finish your food like a good boy, you can unwrap dessert at 2100 hours. 🥺💋”

Caleb chokes so hard on his own saliva he nearly knocks over the tray.

The guy across from him glances at the photo. Blinks. Whistles.

“You married a menace, Colonel.”

Caleb doesn’t even argue.

He just clutches the photo to his chest, cheeks flushed, muttering something about how nobody’s allowed to look but him.

Later that night, he storms into the apartment, throws his gear down, and pins you to the wall in one smooth motion.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls, eyes wild with equal parts reverence and desperation.

You blink innocently. “Did you like the picture?”

“I liked it so much I almost got court-martialed.”

You grin. “You finished your food?”

“Oh, I finished everything.” His voice drops, fingers curling around your hips like you’re the only thing tethering him to gravity. “But I’m still hungry, sweetheart. And you’re on the menu.”

And that’s how you end up with noodles on the floor and Caleb showing you exactly what kind of dessert he meant.

Xavier

Xavier isn’t used to packed lunches.

He’s used to mission rations, cold energy bars, and whatever vending machine items don’t scream immediate regret.

So when he opens his gear pack during a routine debrief and finds a neatly packed bento box on top—wrapped in one of your pastel cloth napkins with your handwriting in the corner—he freezes like it’s a bomb.

He unwraps it slowly.

Inside: onigiri shaped like stars, strawberries cut like hearts, even a tiny container of dipping sauce… and a folded note taped to the lid.

He hesitates.

Then opens the note.

“Hope this holds you over, baby. But just so you know… dessert’s waiting in silk and nothing else. 😘”

His ears go pink. Then red.

He sits there, staring at the note like it just physically struck him. His mind has cleared of every tactical detail he learned in training. All he can hear is your voice in his head, teasing and sweet and barely dressed.

He eats one rice ball and immediately chokes.

Back at home that night, you’re reading on the couch when you hear the door open. You don’t even get a hello before a very flushed, very tense Xavier walks in—jacket half-off, eyes wild.

You blink. “You okay?”

He says nothing.

Just crosses the room, crouches in front of you, and holds up the note.

“I couldn’t focus.”

You smile, playful. “That was kind of the point.”

His jaw flexes.

“You said dessert.”

“I did.”

“And… silk.”

“Mhm.”

You lean forward, letting your fingertips graze his cheek. His breath stutters.

“You ready to cash in?” you murmur.

He nods.

Slow. Deliberate.

And then?

Very quietly—almost reverently—he says:

“…Can I unwrap you like you packed me?”

You’ve never seen him lose control faster.

Rafayel

Rafayel doesn’t usually remember to eat. Or sleep. Or hydrate.

So when you start packing him lunch every afternoon before he disappears into the studio, it’s more about survival than romance—at first.

Today, though?

You were feeling bold.

So you packed his usual—veggie wrap, fruit, chocolate—but with a little extra flair: strawberries sliced into hearts, a ribbon tied around the bento box, and a note folded like origami and tucked under the lid.

You don’t hear from him for hours.

And then—

BANG. The studio door slams open like a scene from a telenovela.

“What the hell is this,” Rafayel demands, waving the lunch box like it personally offended him. His hair’s a mess, his shirt is unbuttoned halfway down, and his mouth is stained red.

You raise a brow. “Lunch?”

He storms over and slams the note down onto the table:

“Eat this like you plan to eat me later. Slowly. Messily. No crumbs left behind.”

You barely hold back a grin. “Was it too much?”

“Too much?” he scoffs. “Too much? Baby, I licked the juice off my fingers and got hard in front of a canvas.”

You burst into laughter. He does not.

“I was trying to paint,” he says, voice strained. “And all I could think about was how you’d taste if I laid you out on the palette table.”

You blink.

“…Do you want a different note next time?”

He narrows his eyes. Crosses the room. And cages you against the wall with one palm.

“Next time,” he purrs, “you pack yourself. In the box. Naked. With whipped cream. Deal?”

You open your mouth to respond—

And he kisses you instead.

Hard. Sweet. Just a little messy.

There’s fruit juice on your chin and paint on his fingers and you don’t even care because he’s already lifting you onto the nearest flat surface.

“I’m not leaving crumbs this time,” he murmurs against your neck.

And, well.

He doesn’t.

Zayne

Zayne’s lunch breaks are brief. Efficient. Predictable.

He doesn’t even like eating during the day—it “slows him down.” But ever since you started packing meals for him (“just something light, don’t argue”), he’s been eating more regularly.

Which is great for his health.

Less great when you decide to be cute.

You packed him a neat, nutritious bento. Quinoa salad, steamed chicken, a little mango.

Oh—and a folded note tucked under the lid, sealed with a kiss mark in your favorite lipstick.

You wrote:

“Don’t forget to eat me next. ❤️ P.S. I’m not wearing panties.”

Simple. Sweet. Spicy.

Zayne opens it in the hospital break room. With two other attending surgeons present.

He doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t even flinch.

Just folds the note back up, very slowly, and tucks it into his coat pocket like it’s a nuclear code.

The other doctors go silent. One chokes on his yogurt.

Zayne clears his throat.

“I’ll be taking my lunch in my office today.”

He storms out.

Not in anger.

In desperation.

You don’t even get a warning text. You just hear the front door slam open two hours later and a very composed, very flushed Zayne drops the lunch box on the counter and says—

“Where are they?”

You blink. “Where are what?”

“The panties,” he growls, already walking toward you. “I checked. You lied.”

You don’t have time to answer.

You’re too busy being lifted onto the counter.

“Next time,” he breathes against your neck, “think very carefully about where I might be when I open something like that.”

You grin, breathless. “You didn’t like it?”

“I’m going to punish you for it.”

And from the way he kisses you—slow, possessive, a little starved—you think maybe lunch just became his favorite meal of the day.

Sylus

To be fair, you weren’t trying to start anything.

You just thought it would be funny.

Sylus doesn’t “do” lunch—but when he left his suit jacket at home this morning (after a particularly enthusiastic goodbye), you took your chance and sent him off with a black-lacquered lunchbox.

He rolled his eyes.

Said nothing.

But you knew he’d open it eventually.

Probably surrounded by his inner circle—Onychinus lieutenants and morally bankrupt geniuses. Maybe even a few government spies pretending not to be impressed by him.

Which is exactly why you slipped in the note. Right beneath the neatly wrapped meal.

In your handwriting:

“Every bite better remind you whose mouth it should be in.

Come home hungry. I’ll be wearing nothing but your ring.”

You didn’t expect a response.

But that afternoon, your phone buzzes.

It’s a photo.

Your note—next to an empty container.

And then a message:

Sylus: “Meeting ended early. Your fault. Open the door or I break it.”

You barely have time to laugh before you hear boots in the hall.

He’s already there.

Still in all black. Collar undone. Red brooch askew. Energy crackling like he barely made it through the day without devouring something.

He steps inside.

Locks the door behind him.

Then looks you over—slow, dark, dangerous.

“You wanted to be cute,” he says.

You shrug, fake-innocent. “Was I?”

He’s already walking toward you.

“No,” he mutters, pinning you against the wall. “You were reckless.”

“And now I’m—”

His mouth covers yours before you can finish.

You don’t get to finish anything that night.

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gallifreyan85 · 4 months ago

Text

Scare me up (a little bit of love)

pairing: Agatha x reader

summary: this is the bring your mentor back from the dead mother's day fic you never knew you needed

Next part (and last) here

A/n at the end of fic.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

When you reached Westview it was early morning. The sun had just come out, and by the time you stepped off the bus and made your way into town, walking alone by the lonely winding road, eyes squinting from the sunlight peeking through the trees, you felt a familiar tug in your bones. The old sign at the edge of town was still there, big, white, faded letters against a scraped teal background, and you passed it in a hurry, quickening your steps in hopes of reaching your destination faster. Though once you did, you didn’t go in at once.

You stood in front of her house, taking in the view. The front door was missing, askew on its hinges and crammed sideways across the doorway, a steady reminder of what happened before you, your mentor, and her so called makeshift coven decided to walk the Witches Road. It was an eventful day, so unlike the one you were having now. You took a step off the cement driveway and opened the latch on the white wooden fence. It didn’t creak, but the paint was stale, and you had to lean against it with your full body to make the hinges budge. The grass was soft beneath your sneakers, a little slippery from the early morning dew. You quietly made your way towards the entrance, and then, with a final, shaky breath of determination, ducked underneath the skewed front door and slipped inside.

The house was silent. Old wooden tiles groaned as you stepped into the hallway, then the living room. It wasn’t very messy, but the air was thick and stale and you went to open the nearest window. All the curtains were drawn, leaving the rooms shrouded in half darkness, streaks of light zig-zagging across the dark television screen, an old bookshelf, the worn patterned couch. You sighed. There was an ache in your lungs from being back here, a house you’d spent so many years in, studying magic and listening to Agatha talk about her chaotic adventures, tease you about everything and then make some witchy herbal tea you always drank with her. You missed it. All of it.

But most of all you missed her.

The Road was a messy adventure, you’d joined her of course, without question, eager to talk with her after the three long years of nothing, and once you made it out--

You wondered if the yard was still strewn with pieces of wreckage from that fight she and Rio had had. You shook you head quickly and set yourself straight. You were here for a reason.

To bring her back.

It took a while, a long, long, long while, but you finally found it. A way, a combination of tricky, long, dreary and demanding spells and enchantments, all ingredients in bringing back a life. Well. Not quite. She was a ghost. All you’d do was get her back into her body, set things straight. Although with her, things rarely seemed to go straight. You sighed, dropped your backpack onto the sofa, and went into the kitchen. After making a black coffee-- you rarely drank it black but there was no milk in the fridge and the cabinets were quite empty, you went into the basement.

Señor Scratchy came hopping into the light from some dim corner, his little nose twitching in recognition. You bent down to pet him, running your fingers through his soft fur. You’d missed him too. You were relieved that he was alright, because after you’d stormed off and left Agatha and Billy to their adventures you wondered for a while if someone had come in to check on the bunny.

“Are the neighbors feeding you well, buddy?” you murmured into the quiet stillness of the room.

He stayed under your hand, whiskers moving curiously, and then pressed his nose against your mug. You realized then that you’d taken one of hers. You hadn’t even noticed.

“I know buddy…” you said softly, “I miss her too.”

You stayed there on the floor, crouched down with him and petting him until your coffee went cold, and then pressed a kiss to his furry head and stood back up again.

You set your mug on her desk, dark mahogany from whatever old century she got it from, and started to go through your books. You opened every needed page, got all the ingredients, luckily her basement still had some herbs and gems stashed away in glass jars, and it took you over fifteen minutes to locate the candles stashed in a wooden crate above the washer and dryer-- you really missed all the enchanted and creepy vibes of the room. It looked so bland like this. Like a normal suburban basement, even though you knew it was everything but. You missed the magic. How many tireless evenings you’d spent in that same room, whining that you couldn’t do the spells, that it was too hard, and Agatha teasing you and sighing and explaining everything from the beginning. After everything was ready, you went up into the backyard.

A soft breeze was blowing, making your hair fall into your eyes and mouth, and you tied it back before pulling out the spellbook. You set it down beside you and looked through the garage. You found a shovel. It was heavy, really heavy, but you managed it just fine. Back in the yard, you stood over the right spot, and started to dig.

The ground wasn’t too hard but it was cold, and you had to put all your strength into pushing the dirt away, slowly piling it into a heap by the side. It took a while. Not like in the movies, where the main character digs up a grave in twenty minutes without breaking a sweat. You were exhausted by the end of the first half hour, and went back inside to finish your coffee. Then you went back at it again. Continued digging. You weren’t in a real hurry, it wouldn’t be a huge problem if you did it tomorrow, but you wanted it to be done today. It was important to you. If it worked. And you really, really hoped it would.

When it was finally done, you took one long look-- at her, and sat back, sweaty and aching.

You inhaled. Took a deep, long breath. And said the words.

Clearly, evenly, a steady, perfect spell. Just like you practiced. Just like Agatha was there beside you, watching your movements and giving you corrections.

You finished the first half.

“Agatha?” you asked into the breeze.

Nothing.

Then--

A whizz of movement from behind you, and her spectral form appeared, just the same as last time you’d seen her. It had been a few weeks.

You felt your throat tighten.

“Well, well.” she drawled, a smirk at her translucent lips. “Look who decided to finally summon me. Are you missing our lessons, dear?”

You looked at her. Took a breath. Nodded faintly. She was doing small talk. You didn’t think you had it in you to follow along.

“Good.” she said, “I’m glad to see at least someone was missing me.”

You looked away.

She watched you, still hovering a few feet away, and then sighed.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re still hung up on me being dead. I’m still here, darling, aren’t I? Still here to annoy you.”

You gave a weak smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s not the same as being alive.”

“Yes, well we’ve passed that point. I got used to it, and so should you.”

“You’re still dead.” you said, more harshly than you’d have liked.

She waved a hand.

“No-- don’t do that, don’t pretend like—”

She disappeared. Reappeared behind you, said a soft boo into your ear.

You huffed and swatted at her, and your hand went straight through.

She grinned.

“What’s this now? Did I teach you to resort to violence, student mine?”

You gave her a look.

“Please stop teasing me and focus. I called you over for a reason.”

She tilted her head, and looked around. Her smirk faltered when she saw the body on the grass, her own body. She looked back up.

“Dabbling in necromancy now? I thought we agreed to save that for last.”

“Yeah, well I did some of my own research the past few weeks.”

She spoke with exaggerated emotion. “Oh joy. I’m in such good hands now.”

You closed your eyes.

“Agatha.”

“What?”

“I’m being serious.”

“Oh I can see that.” she said, floating over to look at her body. “You’ve been so busy… How long did it even take you to dig me up, hm? Hours? Days? You’re a bit lacking on the practical side of things.”

You wanted to throw something at her. You knew it wouldn’t work but that didn’t stop you from trying. You hit her with a pebble. It went straight through her robes and bounced off the shovel. She chuckled.

“You’re determined, I’ll give you that.”

“Would you just—” you were slowly losing your patience, “Just stop teasing me and listen. Please.”

She sighted deeply, and finally looked back up at you, expression a little more serious.

“Fine. What was so important that you had to—” she waved a hand around.

You knew she knew, but like yourself she wanted you to say it first. Outloud.

“I’m,” you paused, “we’re gonna bring you back.”

She raised a perfect, silvery brow, arms firmly crossed. “Are we now?”

You nodded. Tried to seem reassuring and firm. “Yes.”

She chuckled. “Great then. Let’s get weaving, I want to get this over with so you can have a piece of mind and I can run away before you get all miserable on me like last time.”

She gave you a pointed look. You swallowed. The last time you’d seen her had been quite a mess. Billy was there, and he had the front row seat to witnessing your tearful meltdown over your mentor being dead and not doing anything to fix it. Not even trying. Not once.

As if she simply didn’t... care.

But as much as that thought hurt, you cared. And you were going to show her.

You picked up the spellbook and lowered yourself on the grass a few feet away from her.

“When I finish reading this part you’re supposed to try and get- get back into—”

She let out a gruff chuckle. “You want me to try and possess my own body? Hun, I know you had some ideas that were out there but that is never going to work. There are rules—”

“I know the rules.” you said, firmer, “And I found the right spells, and if we do it correctly it won’t be-- it’ll be okay. Just trust me. Please. Just try.”

She sighed.

“Fine. But if you start crying when I stay all-- un fantasma after you speak your little part I will leave. If you want lessons you got em’ but I ain’t sticking around as your emotional support spirit guide or some other nonsense.”

You swallowed thickly. Pressed your lips together. Half of you felt how this was going to end. You couldn’t keep from crying if it didn’t work, and you knew it probably wouldn’t. But you had to try. You owed it to her, even if she didn’t believe in you.

“Fine.” you said, opening the book.

She watched you, and for a moment it seemed she was going to say something else, but she stayed silent. Just hovered around the yard, watching you, those blue eyes now even more piercing than before.

You inhaled. Exhaled. And started to read.

One part done. Spell. Movement. A charm. Another spell. Then--

You spoke the final bit of written words in a quick but clear ramble, and finally stopped.

You looked up at her. Gave her the go ahead. Nodded.

She did what you asked, begrudgingly floating over to her body and then sinking down, out of your sight until the tips of her glowing robes disappeared beneath the surface of the ground. You watched. No movement. Her chest wasn’t moving. Nothing stirred. Not a single sound came from her, or yourself. A flicker of magic glowed, flickered briefly, and then died out.

You held your breath, felt it stick in your throat.

“A-agatha?” you called out tentatively. Your voice sounded quiet and unsure in the calm of the afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, hiding behind bright clouds. You felt the anticipation and hope from earlier drain from you, slowly replaced with a hanging dread.

Had you--

What if it went wrong? Had you-- what if you accidentally banished her?

It would mean you’d never see her again, ghost or otherwise, at all, not ever. You felt your throat tighten. Tears pricked at your eyes, your vision slowly blurring.

No.

You hadn’t--

You couldn’t have--

“Agatha.” you said again, a bit louder this time. “Agatha, are you there? Please say something.”

Nothing.

“Agatha!” you yelled.

And still not a single sound. Birds were chirping quietly. The white picket fence gate creaked from the front yard. You felt your chest tighten with panic. Fear. Dread. Guilt. So much guilt. Had you ruined it? All of it?

You didn’t bother stifling the sob that slipped past your lips, a sort of half-whimper, half-plea of her name. You started to cry. The grass was cold and damp against your stained knees, your jeans half-covered in dirt and fresh earth, your face a sweaty mess of exhaustion and tears and loneliness.

You felt desperate. Alone.

So alone.

And then--

A loud, wheezing gasp, startling you so harshly that you literally jumped backwards, scooted with a flinch into the shovel behind you that sent you wincing. You blinked and tried to clear your blurry vision.

Agatha’s body was still in front of you, but it wasn’t just her body, she was--

You watched with wide, teary eyes as she sat up, coughing and spluttering and looking very much like she was ready to hex someone for disturbing her in the midst of a very pleasant, relaxing afternoon.

You blinked.

Watched her take a shuddering unsteady breath, then another one, then another. Your hands felt numb. Tingly. Your fingers moved on their own accord, as if to grasp- to reach for--

“A-agatha?” you managed out.

Silence.

Then-

“That was very unpleasant.”

You stared. Tried to keep in the tears.

She opened her mouth to speak, probably some sarcastic, teasing remark-- you scrambled to your feet so fast you nearly slipped and threw yourself at her in the tightest hug ever, clinging to every part of her you could reach, holding on for dear life.

“What in the—” she spluttered, winded, and tried to shrug you off of her, but you clung tightly. Didn’t let go. Didn’t dare to look up into her face, her finally colourful, alive face.

You kept crying.

Into her shirt. Pressed your head into her chest and inhaled through sobs, feeling the damp smell of freshly dug earth and a faint, very faint but there, whiff of her perfume. It just made you sob harder.

She tried once more to get you off of her but quickly realized it was hopeless and instead rested her arms gently on your back, pulling you a little closer.

You kept crying. “You’re alive—” you sobbed out, “you’re b-back-- please-- Ag—”

She held you tighter against her. Vaguely you felt her chin come to rest on your head, messing up your already disheveled hair and you felt her breath against the top of your head.

Her breath.

She was breathing.

“Alright, hun, I’m here.” she murmured hoarsely.

You couldn’t tell if the cracks in her voice were from held back emotion or being literally dead, but you didn’t care. She was talking to you. She was alive. So alive.

You sniffled against her sweater and felt her grumbling above you, something along the lines of ‘if you get snot on my shirt I swear I will—’ but you didn’t find it in you to care.

She was back.

You had her back.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, sobbing and sniffling and holding onto her like a lifeboat in the midst of stormy sea, but eventually you felt your tears slowly but surely slow.

You looked up. Raised your head just a little. Her face was slightly dirty and pale and she looked rarely fragile for a moment, but her gaze landed on your and she smiled.

Briefly.

You realized there were tears in her eyes too.

You sniffled, and finally spoke, in a shaky, trembling voice. “You’re back.”

“Seems so.” she said, and you could hear she was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an undertone of genuine emotion in her voice, something thin and bittersweet and maybe long-forgotten.

“You’ll stay this time?” you murmured tearfully.

She nodded. “I will. No more dying for anyone. Not even for you.”

You just hugged her tighter. She huffed, mock-breathless, and muttered, “Easy there, toots, I just came back from the dead, I’m not planning on doing a return trip just yet. I need air now.”

You started crying again.

She sighed, lips tight. “Too soon?”

You nodded against her, your cheek against her chest. You could feel her heart beating, slowly, softly but surely, a steady heartbeat. You smiled.

“I thought I’d never get to hug you again.” you mumbled.

She scoffed, pulling away briskly and dusting off your shoulder.

“Now now, I know you missed me but let’s not get too sentimental here, hun.”

You smiled up at her. You didn’t realize you were still crying but she slowly wiped away the tears from your face with her sleeve, a move that made you want to burrow back into her arms and stay there forever.

“I missed you.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Cause I did. I missed hugging you.”

She looked...pained. Slightly uncomfortable. Like she hadn’t been expecting such a high amount of affection coming her way so soon. But still, you heard her say clearly,

“I... missed you too, pet.”

You smiled brightly. Sniffled. She huffed at your expression and tried to get up but just ended up stumbling back onto the ground.

“Now that I’m here and all I’m gonna need my legs, you know. Can’t float out of this astoundingly very tight hug.”

You didn’t budge.

You felt her sigh, a bit more like herself now already.

“Fine-- fine- see, five minutes go by and this is what I have to deal with? The clinging, the neediness-- what are you, an octopus?”

You chuckled through a stuffy nose.

She swatted the top of your head gently and you giggled at it, still not letting go.

“Alright, now, what do I have to do to get you off of me, huh? Can I bribe you?”

“….no?”

“Thought so. Why do you insist on being so difficult?” but there was no evident bite in her voice, and you could’ve sworn you saw her trying to hide her smile.

She nudged you. Then shoved you a little harder, then finally pulled you off of her while holding your arm and stood up, letting out a reluctant, exasperated sigh when you glued yourself right back to her, arms around her waist.

“Alright, kid, listen, I just rose from the grave—”

“Uh-huh.”

“I should at least shower.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not taking you in the shower with me, get off.”

“Just one second more, please—”

She groaned but softly wrapped her arms around you.

“You really are something, you know that.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed. It sounded softer than you remembered.

“Yeah.” she echoed quietly, pressing her lips against your hair once more.

You felt the moment stretch.

“Come on, kiddo.” she spoke against your forehead. “Let’s go back inside." her hand found your own, "And I better not find that you made my house into some suburban, dainty—”

Suburban?

You thought about the mug that stood wrapped with a bow in your backpack, the card you'd brought with you, the one you bought and wrote in, and then erased the text five times before settling on the right words.

“It’s just dusty.” you said into her arm.

She huffed.

“I’ll be the judge of that. If I see one single live love laugh quote I’m going back to being a ghost and haunting your ass for all eternity. I’m not kidding.”

You laughed and wiped your eyes, pressed your face back into her sweater with a smile, and let her guide you both inside.

A/n: ....hey. so i just finished this, first off, i wrote this purely out of self indulgence but i really liked it and it's been a while since i felt confident about liking something i wrote this much so this was important to me. anyway. title is from Little Ghost by The White Stripes, and i'll be honest i do not know the song but when i saw the lyrics i thought of agatha at once. so... yeah. hope you liked this. a sorta part two will happen at some point. Also forgot to mention I def borrowed the phrase 'student mine' from one of my favorite ever fics of AAA, it's by @justaboot on ao3, and it is one of the best characterizations of Agatha and her dynamic with Billy- you should definitely go check it out if u want something good to read. have a wonderful day y'all. <3

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #marvel #mine #reader insert #agatha harkness x reader #agnes of westview #marvel cinematic universe #mentor agatha harkness #ghost agatha harkness #senor scratchy #agatha coven of chaos #ghost agatha #post wandavision #post agatha all along

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