#really good first impression. never recovered from it

[liauditore]

[asmr boyfriend voice] woof woof bark bark

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 1: March 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

....Do not expect particular quick updates on this, because it's a beast of a story. Also: kinda Charles bashing, but not really? You'll see.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

A Bar in Montecarlo: 

Max had come to the bar for a quiet drink, not to get his world flipped upside down. But then he spotted her.

She was standing at the counter, waiting for her drink, all soft confidence and effortless elegance. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to turn heads—she just did. And Max, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, slid up beside her with his most charming smirk and opened his mouth. 

And because apparently, he had actually listened the last time Lando told him all about the absolutely horrible Pick-Up-Lines that he had tried with middling success…that was what came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, “but do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

She turned, amused—

And Max nearly choked.

Because he knew her.

His brain scrambled for a second before his mouth caught up. “Oh, shit. You’re Charles’ little sister.”

Her entire expression changed. The amusement faded, her jaw tightening. “Wow,” she deadpanned. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”

Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”

She picked up her drink and turned fully toward him, raising a brow. “I do have a name, you know.”

He nodded quickly, recovering. “Right. Isabelle.”

“Good job,” she said dryly. “Want a gold star?”

Max huffed out a laugh. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting you. I see a beautiful woman at a bar, and my instinct is to flirt. Then I realize she’s my colleague’s little sister, and I panic.”

Her lips twitched. “And?”

“And… I’m still going to flirt with you,” he admitted, grinning. “But properly this time.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink, Isabelle?”

She pretended to consider. “That depends. Are you going to keep calling me Charles’ little sister?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to utter those words again.”

Her lips curled in the slightest smirk. “In that case, sure. Let’s see if you can impress me, Verstappen.”

Max had never been one to back down from a challenge. And something told him this was a challenge he’d never want to walk away from.

Max flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. Isabelle took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t falling over herself just because he was Max Verstappen.

“So,” he said, leaning against the bar, “what exactly would impress you?”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her glass. “A conversation that doesn’t involve my brothers.”

Max smirked. “That easy?”

“You’d be surprised how many people fail that test.”

He could imagine. Charles was everywhere in the racing world, and by extension, so was Isabelle. It must be exhausting, always being seen as an extension of someone else.

Max took the challenge seriously. “Alright,” he said, shifting toward her. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with your family.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was assessing if he was genuine. Then, after a beat, she said, “I work in architecture.”

Max blinked. “Really?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about what you do.”

She smirked. “That’s because you’ve only ever seen me as Charles’ little sister.”

Max winced. “Okay, fair. But I’m interested now.”

“Are you?” She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I have heard your name at work before.”

Max frowned. “You have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink. “Apparently, you’ve been house hunting. One of my colleagues nearly had a meltdown over the idea of designing a place for Max Verstappen.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait… which project?”

She bit back a smile. “A penthouse. You toured it a few weeks ago.”

Max suddenly knew exactly which one she was talking about. He had liked the place, but something had held him back from committing.

Now, though?

Now, he was very seriously considering signing the papers just for an excuse to see her again.

He leaned in, watching her reaction closely. “And if I were to, say, buy that penthouse?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’d know you had good taste.”

Max grinned. “That’s it?”

She shrugged. “That, and I’d probably have to endure my colleagues freaking out for at least a week.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Guess I have some decisions to make.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.

Max drummed his fingers against the bar, pretending to think. "Alright, so let’s say I do buy that penthouse. Hypothetically."

Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."

"Would I get a personal consultation?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "That’s not how it works."

"But if I had, I don’t know, questions about the design, or maybe some concerns about the layout, I’d need someone to talk to, wouldn’t I?"

Isabelle swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Max, are you trying to say you need my number for professional reasons?"

He grinned, tilting his head. "I mean, what if I need an expert opinion? You are the only architect I know."

She sighed in mock exasperation, but he could tell she was entertained. "I really shouldn’t encourage this."

"But you want to," Max countered, smirking.

Her lips twitched, and after a moment’s pause, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Fine. Give me yours, I’ll text you."

Max typed in his number so fast that she actually laughed. She typed something in her phone. 

A second later, his phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: Congratulations on your completely unbiased, definitely not suspicious real estate decision.

Max chuckled. "So, what happens if I text you about things that aren’t penthouse-related?"

Isabelle lifted her glass to her lips and said, before taking the last sip, "Guess we’ll find out."

And just like that, Max Verstappen knew he was completely screwed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.

(Unknown Number): Verstappen.

(Unknown Number): Just in case you know a lot of Maxes.

Isabelle: I don’t.

Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.

Isabelle: Already?

Max: What can I say? I like you.

Isabelle: You barely know me.

Max: That’s true. But I’d like to change that.

Isabelle: …That was smooth.

Max: Was it?

Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.

Max: Noted. I’ll add it to my very short list of smooth moments.

Isabelle: Very short?

Max: Tragically short.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I believe that.

Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.

Isabelle: You have a sister?

Max: Victoria.

Isabelle: Right, I think I’ve seen her before.

Max: Probably. She’d probably like you, by the way.

Isabelle: Oh?

Max: Yeah. She has a good instinct about people.

Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?

Max: That I really, really want to see you again.

Isabelle: You’re very direct, aren’t you?

Max: Is that a bad thing?

Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.

Max: Well, I can be subtle too.

Isabelle: Can you?

Max: Definitely. For example, I could subtly ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.

Isabelle: …Very subtle.

Max: Thank you. So?

Isabelle: I might be free.

Max: Good. Then I’ll subtly ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.

Isabelle: Are you always like this?

Max: Only when I really like someone.

Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.

Max: Perfect. I’ll send you the details.

Isabelle: Looking forward to it.

Max: Me too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I met someone.

Victoria: …Okay?

Max: And I think I’m in love.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: You literally just met her??

Max: Yes.

Victoria: And you think you’re in love?

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: WHAT.

Victoria: HOW.

Victoria: WHY.

Max: I don’t know, Vic. I just know. I met her tonight and I just…I just know.

Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Vic.

Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.

Max: Very.

Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.

Max: Completely.

Victoria: …Okay.

Max: Okay?

Victoria: Yeah.

Victoria: I mean, I think you’re insane, but if anyone deserves to fall stupidly, recklessly in love, it’s you.

Max: …Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.

Victoria: For who you are. Not because you’re Max Verstappen, two-time world champion, but just because you’re you.

Max: …

Max: I think she sees me that way.

Victoria: Then hold onto her.

Max: I plan to.

Victoria: Is that why you’re texting me at midnight like a lunatic?

Max: …I may have also just bought that penthouse.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: YOU HAVE BEEN UNDECIDED ABOUT THAT PENTHOUSE FOR MONTHS.

Victoria: AND NOW YOU MEET A GIRL AND SUDDENLY YOU’RE BUYING IT???

Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.

Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.

Max: That’s astrology nonsense.

Victoria: SAYS THE MAN PLANNING A WHOLE FUTURE AFTER ONE CONVERSATION.

Max: I have a good feeling about it.

Victoria: MAX.

Max: What? You just said I deserve to be loved.

Victoria: YES, BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LOSE YOUR ENTIRE MIND OVER IT.

Max: Too late.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.

Victoria: But if she makes you happy… then I’m happy for you.

Max: She does.

Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.

Emilie: That’s a lot of words. What happened?

Isabelle: I have a date.

Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?

Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.

Emilie: …

Emilie: I’m going to need a second.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???

Isabelle: We met at a bar. He asked me out. I said yes. And now I don’t know what to wear. Focus. Help.

Emilie: We met at a bar, he asked me out, I said yes—DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???

Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.

Emilie: Right. Okay. Where is he taking you?

Isabelle: Some fancy restaurant. Not too fancy, but still expensive.

Emilie: God, of course. Okay. Simple but elegant. A dress that makes it look like you didn’t try too hard, even though you absolutely did.

Isabelle: Black dress?

Emilie: Obviously. And heels. You own some ridiculous ones. Wear those.

Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.

Emilie: Because I have taste. Now, more importantly—DO YOUR BROTHERS KNOW??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: No, they do not.

Emilie: WHY NOT???

Isabelle: Because I don’t want to deal with it.

Emilie: You are dating CHARLES LECLERC’S BIGGEST RIVAL. YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S WORTH MENTIONING???

Isabelle: One date does not mean I’m dating him.

Emilie: YET.

Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.

Emilie: …That is the saddest sentence I have ever read.

Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Are we talking about the same man??? The one who holds grudges against people for bad karting races from 15 years ago??

Isabelle: I am saying that I am basically invisible in my family, and therefore, he will not care.

Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.

Isabelle: It’s just reality.

Emilie: No, it’s tragic. And when Charles inevitably does care, I am going to be so smug about it.

Isabelle: He won’t.

Emilie: He will. And when he finds out from Twitter instead of you, I am going to remind you forever that I was right.

Isabelle: Fine. If he does, I will buy you dinner.

Emilie: And?

Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.

Emilie: Good girl. But first, we need to make sure Max Verstappen is absolutely floored when he sees you tonight. Let’s pick out your dress.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: HELP.

Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: I’m serious, Vic. This is important.

Victoria: It’s one date.

Max: Exactly! First impressions matter. What if I wear something stupid?

Victoria: You wear team merch 90% of the time, so that’s a real possibility.

Max: NOT HELPING.

Victoria: Okay, okay. Where are you taking her?

Max: Nice restaurant. Fancy-ish but not too fancy.

Victoria: Alright. Dark jeans, nice shirt, jacket. Clean shoes.

Max: That’s it???

Victoria: Yes, you’re not walking a red carpet, Max.

Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?

Victoria: If she’s going out with you, she probably already knows you’re a little fashion-challenged.

Max: Wow.

Victoria: I’m just saying, if she agreed to a date, she clearly likes you. Just wear something that fits and isn’t Red Bull merch.

Max: I feel like you’re underestimating the stress of this situation.

Victoria: I feel like you’re underestimating the fact that she already said yes.

Max: …Good point.

Victoria: Obviously. Now go find a shirt that isn’t a team polo and try not to overthink it.

Max: No promises.

Victoria: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet, you still love me.

Victoria: Unfortunately. Now go. And don’t text me from the restaurant freaking out.

Max: No guarantees.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Well????

Isabelle: Well, what?

Emilie: Isabelle. Do not play dumb with me. How did the date go??

Isabelle: …It was really nice.

Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?

Emilie: I want DETAILS. Did he show up looking stupidly handsome? Was he nice? Did he make you laugh? Did you kiss him??

Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.

Emilie: YES??

​​Isabelle: I kissed him.

Emilie: !!!!!

Emilie: Details. Now.

Isabelle: It was after our date. He walked me to my door, and I just… kissed him.

Emilie: You just kissed him?? Who are you and what have you done with my overthinking best friend??

Isabelle: Shut up. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.

Emilie: And???

Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.

Emilie: …That better not be the end of the story.

Isabelle: It was soft. And slow. And he cupped my face like I was something precious.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: Isabelle, my love. My dearest best friend.

Emilie: You’re done for.

Isabelle: … I know.

Emilie: And how did he look after?

Isabelle: Like he was trying very hard not to kiss me again.

Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: Tell me everything.

Isabelle: He was already at the restaurant when I got there, which was sweet. He pulled out my chair for me. He was nervous, which was insane to me because, you know, he’s Max Verstappen.

Emilie: Boy has driven through Eau Rouge at full speed, but a girl makes him nervous. I love this.

Isabelle: He kept looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. Like he actually wanted to hear everything I had to say.

Emilie: I love him already.

Isabelle: You love him?? Emilie, I might actually be in trouble here.

Emilie: Uh oh.

Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: When???

Isabelle: They just got delivered.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME.

Emilie: You go on ONE date with Max Verstappen and wake up to FLOWERS???

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: What kind?

Isabelle: Peonies.

Emilie: Belle.

Emilie: He is so in love with you.

Isabelle: It was one date.

Emilie: AND???

Emilie: The man sent you flowers the morning after like he’s starring in a romance novel.

Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?

Emilie: Girl. Be serious.

Emilie: Did he say anything with them?

Isabelle: There was a note.

Emilie: AND???

Isabelle: It just says ‘Last night was perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. – Max’

Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.

Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.

Emilie: He sent you flowers. He is so gone for you.

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: So… second date?

Isabelle: Saturday.

Emilie: GIRL.

Isabelle: I know.

***

Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: That’s a very ‘I have a thoughtful boyfriend’ kind of flower arrangement.

↳@/paddockprincessx: Soft launch era????

@/leclercsiblingtea: If Charles doesn’t know who sent these, I need his live reaction immediately.

↳@/monacogossip: Why do I feel like this is someone wildly unexpected?

↳@/redbullsimpclub: Place your bets now, I’m saying it’s a paddock guy.

↳@/f1shenanigans: If this is from an F1 driver, I am losing my mind.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.

Isabelle: And for yesterday. I had a really nice time.

Max: I’m glad you liked them. 

Max: What’s your favorite flower? For next time.

Isabelle: Snowdrops.

Max: Snowdrops?

Isabelle: Yes?

Max: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose favorite flower is snowdrops.

Isabelle: That’s a shame. They’re beautiful. And they bloom in the cold, when nothing else does.

Max : Like you, then.

Isabelle: …Are you trying to be charming, Max Verstappen?

Max: Is it working?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Good.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.

Max: She needs a new hobby.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What?

Sophie: Are you in love?

Max: …Maybe.

Sophie: After one conversation?

Max: No! After two conversations.

Sophie: Oh, well, that’s much more reasonable.

Max: Mom.

Sophie: Max.

Max: Look, I just know that it’s different. I’ve never felt like this before.

Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.

Max: I know. But I can’t explain it. It just makes sense.

Sophie: So how did the date go?

Max: …It was perfect.

Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.

Max: She’s funny, she’s smart, she actually listens when I talk about racing—like, really listens. And she doesn’t care about the other stuff. The money, the fame. None of it. She just likes me.

Sophie: That’s important.

Max: I know.

Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?

Max: When she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person for how fast I’m falling for her.

Sophie: I hate to break it to you, Max, but you bought a penthouse because her firm is working on it.

Max: …

Sophie: That’s what I thought.

Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.

Sophie: Of course it is.

Max: So you’re not going to say I’m insane?

Sophie: Oh, you are insane. But you’re also my son. And if this makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.

Max: Thanks, Mom.

Sophie: Now tell me, do I need to start planning a wedding?

Max: Goodbye.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale) 

Arthur: Dinner at Maman’s, Saturday, usual time?

Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.

Lorenzo: Me too.

Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.

Arthur: What’s Maman making?

Charles: Probably something with pasta.

Lorenzo: Didn’t she say something about lamb last time?

Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.

Isabelle: Have fun!

Charles: See you all Saturday.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey, if I were to ask for date advice, purely hypothetically…

Victoria: Oh my God.

Max: What?

Victoria: You NEVER ask for advice. This must be serious.

Max: It’s not that serious.

Victoria: You literally bought an apartment because of this girl.

Max: …That’s unrelated.

Victoria: Sure it is.

Max: So… hypothetically… if I needed some guidance, what would you suggest?

Victoria: Are you actually asking for advice, or are you just hoping I’ll make it easier for you by giving you a list of things not to do?

Max: ...

Victoria: That’s what I thought. Give me a second.

Victoria: Okay, here’s your DO NOT list:

Do not talk about tire degradation.

Do not mention iRacing, no matter how good your last stint was.

Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.

Do not check F1 news during the date.

Do not turn the date into a competition.

Do not text me mid-date if you panic. Figure it out.

Do not propose.

Max: …That last one was unnecessary.

Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.

Max: I wasn’t going to propose.

Victoria: Good. Then this should be easy for you.

Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.

Victoria: Thank you.

Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?

Victoria: Max.

Max: Alright, alright. No cap.

Victoria: Proud of you. Now, go be normal.

Max: No promises.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hypothetically. If you were taking someone on a second date. What would you do?

GP: …Why are you asking me?

Max: Because you’re married!

GP: And?

Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.

GP: That does not make me a dating expert.

GP: Also, since when do you ask me for relationship advice?

GP: Who is she?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max:

GP: MAX.

GP: WHO IS IT.

Max: Isabelle.

GP: Isabelle who?

Max: …Leclerc.

GP:

GP: MAX.

GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?

Max: Yeah, she doesn’t really like being called that.

GP: MAX.

GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?

Max: Not particularly.

GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Max: I met her.

GP: OBVIOUSLY.

GP: Where?! When?! How long has this been going on?!

Max:  A few days.

GP: And Charles doesn’t know???

Max: I don’t think he notices much about her.

GP: Okay, that’s a whole other issue, but back to you.

GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?

Max: She’s nice. I like her.

GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?

Max: If I wanted overreactions, I’d have texted Victoria.

GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.

GP: What does Victoria think?

Max: She said, "You deserve to be loved."

GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.

GP: But also, Charles is still going to kill you.

Max: You’re being dramatic.

GP: AM I?

Max: Are you helping or not?

GP: I AM TOO BUSY PROCESSING YOUR TERRIBLE LIFE CHOICES.

GP: Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Let’s focus.

GP: You need a second date idea.

GP: That does not result in Charles Leclerc murdering you.

Max: I think you’re overestimating how much he pays attention to her.

GP: That’s between them. I am concerned for you.

Max: You’re being dramatic again.

GP: No, I’m being realistic.

Max: …I’ll deal with that when it happens.

GP: Unbelievable.

GP: Alright. Date ideas.

GP: What did you do for the first one?

Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.

GP: What does she like?

Max: Horses.

GP: Horses.

GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.

Max: Yes?

GP: I feel like that’s relevant information I should’ve had sooner.

GP: Have you ever been near a horse, Max?

Max: Not really.

GP: Okay, no horse-related dates yet. You will get yourself killed trying to impress her.

Max: She’d find that funny.

GP: I wouldn’t.

GP: Let’s keep it simple. Somewhere quiet. Private. Where you can talk.

Max: I was thinking that too.

GP: What about a picnic?

Max: A picnic.

GP: Yeah. You get some good food, go somewhere nice, and just relax. No stress.

Max: Where am I supposed to find a picnic spot?

GP: You have a balcony, Max.

GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.

GP: Just set something up there.

Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.

GP: Wow. Praise from the great Max Verstappen. I’m honored.

Max: Don’t get used to it.

GP: Okay, what kind of food does she like?

Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.

GP: That’s a start. You could order from the same place.

Max: Or I could cook.

GP: You could what?

Max: I can cook, GP.

GP: Since when?

Max: Since I lived alone?

GP: Okay, sure. But can you cook something that won’t poison her?

Max: Wow. Faith in me is at an all-time low.

GP: Just making sure she survives the night.

Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.

GP: Fine. But don’t experiment. Stick to what you know.

Max: What do you think I’m going to do? Try molecular gastronomy?

GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.

GP: Okay, what else… You need drinks. Dessert.

Max: She likes red wine.

GP: Get a good wine, then. And dessert?

Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.

GP: So get her something with raspberries.

Max: Got it.

GP: And what about ambiance?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max: What?

GP: Do you even own candles?

Max: …Victoria gave me some once.

GP: Use them.

GP: And put some effort into setting the table.

GP: You know, for someone who acts like they don’t care about romance, you’re actually putting effort into this.

Max: …She’s worth the effort.

GP:

GP: Damn.

GP: Okay.

GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.

Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.

GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.

Max: Sure.

GP: And if you need actual advice, ask Victoria.

Max: I did ask Victoria. She just sent me a list of things not to do.

GP: What was on the list?

Max: "Don’t talk about tire degradation. Don’t mention iRacing. Don’t wear a Red Bull hoodie."

GP: Solid advice.

Max: She also said, "Act normal."

GP: That one might be harder for you.

Max: Wow.

GP: Just being honest.

GP: So, do you have everything planned?

Max: Yeah. I think so.

GP: Good. Now all you have to do is not mess it up.

Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

GP: Any time.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?

Isabelle: Good.

Emilie: …That’s it? "Good"? You had dinner with Max Verstappen, a man who has clearly lost his mind over you, and all you have to say is "good"???

Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.

Isabelle: Happy?

Emilie: Better. But I’m gonna need DETAILS.

Isabelle: We had dinner, talked a lot, and then I stayed over.

Emilie:

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: As in "I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie and went home in the morning" stayed over, or "I am now intimately familiar with Max Verstappen's bedsheets" stayed over???

Isabelle: …

Emilie: ISABELLE.

Isabelle: Nothing happened. 

Emilie: Oh my god.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

Isabelle: I swear, nothing happened. It just got late and…

Emilie: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Isabelle: I’m so glad MY love life is giving you entertainment.

Emilie: You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for you to have an actual romance for YEARS. YEARS, ISABELLE.

Isabelle: You make it sound like I was living in a cave.

Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.

Isabelle: Rude.

Emilie: True.

Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?

Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.

Isabelle: He likes me. Like, really likes me. And I’m not used to that.

Emilie: Then get used to it, babe. Because that man? He’s already gone for you.

Isabelle: You think so?

Emilie: I KNOW so.

Emilie: Now tell me: does he have nice bedsheets, or do I need to stage an intervention?

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well???

Max: Well, what?

GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?

Max: …

GP: MAX.

Max: It went well.

GP: That’s it? That’s all I get after coaching you through this?

Max: What do you want me to say?

GP: I want details. Did she like the food? Did you talk about tire degradation anyway? Did she laugh about your terrible jokes?

Max: She liked the food. No, I did not mention tire degradation. Rude.

GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.

Max: Thanks.

Max: The cats love her.

GP: …THE CATS?! MAX. That is NOT the update I was looking for.

Max: No, but it’s important. They don’t just like people.

GP: I was expecting romance, maybe a ‘we stayed up talking all night’ or ‘she laughed at all my jokes’—and you’re giving me ‘the cats love her’??!

Max: It means a lot! Jimmy and Sassy were literally fighting for her attention. She was just sitting on the couch, and they both climbed into her lap like she was their owner.

GP: …Okay, I’ll admit, that’s kind of a big deal. You’re in love, aren’t you?

Max: I mean… yeah.

GP: I knew it. The cats knew it. Everyone knew it. Charles is gonna lose his mind.

Max: That’s a problem for future Max.

***

[melminli]

Love To Dream

summary - there was this one girl that thanos really wanted, though, she didn't really want to have anything to do with him. unfortunately, that made him want her even more.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: modern au, mention of drugs, enemies to lovers vibes ig, crack, yearning

a/n: i don't even know what this is tbh but I felt like we all deserved some laughs ;)

Life was good - life was really fucking good, Thanos thought to himself as he winked charmingly at a group of hot girls. They had been looking in his direction for a while now while giggling, clearly interested in him. He continued to watch them as he sipped his drink, music pumping through his veins like adrenaline. Thanos's eyes darkened as the girls continued to cast lustful glances in his direction - he knew he could easily get more than one of them into bed tonight and why wouldn't he? It hadn't been long since his last performance on stage, reminding everyone present once again of his legendary status in this club.

However, his attention was focused somewhere entirely else after the most breathtaking person ever decided to walk past him. The pick-up lines he had been thinking of for the group, vanished from his mind after this angel showed up in front of him since the other girls could barely compare. The whole thing looked like something out of a scene from a Kdrama because time seemed to pass in slow motion and your hair was swinging in the air like that of a princess - which would have been the perfect time for some product placement because it just looked so damn soft.

Thanos had his mouth wide open in shock and put a hand over his heart to check if it was still beating while his eyes never left your figure. You - who was leaning prettily against the bar right next to him as you ordered something from the bartender.

“Hey.” he finally recovered from the moment and casually moved towards you. “I'd introduce myself, but I assume you already know me.” he talked to you with his flirty face as soon as you looked up at him.

You smiled shyly. “Yeah, I watched your performance,” you answered him and seemed quite grateful that he was speaking to you right now. “You were pretty good.” you giggled slightly as you complimented him.

“Yeah, that's just how I am.” he sighed as he looked around the room as if it was a burden for him to have to live with all the recognition. His eyes met yours again and he tried to impress you by unpacking a few bars while emphasizing them with the movements of his hands. “Girl, I know you and I are meant to be because after I looked at your pretty face everything stopped being. If only you saw what I can see, you'll understand why I want you so desperately.” he rapped to you, stealing the last line from some One Direction song, but you didn't need to know that.

You shyly put your hands in front of your face to hide your smile. “Oh my god, that was so incredibly sexy, I'm so horny for you right now.” the words came out of your mouth and made Thanos screw up his face weirdly for a second.

Because first of all, those vulgar words didn't match your innocent demeanor in the slightest - and secondly, you said exactly what Thanos had imagined you would say - it was actually a bit creepy since you literally said it word for word. Thanos hardly thought that he could foresee the future all of a sudden or that you could maybe read minds, though he decided to ignore the whole thing as soon as you started touching his chest softly with your hands. He wanted you so bad.

“You don't even know what you're doing to me right now,” he whispered to you while you felt him so sensually and he was about to kiss you, hadn't you stopped his lips with your hand as you laughed into his face. “I think you should wake up now. Otherwise, the pink elephant will keep handing out balloons to people.” You told him, pointing behind him to where the bar was supposed to be.

“Hah?” he asked you confused and turned around while continuing to hold you in his arms, but all he saw were a few dogs breakdancing - and that was nothing out of the ordinary. He continued to look at the scene with a grin, even though some inner voice inside him was stressing out about kissing you immediately as if he was running out of time. He finally turned back to you and was about to continue when he suddenly heard a man speak. “You really should wake up man.” Nam-gyu's voice told him and Thanos only caught himself almost kissing him after he took a closer look. He just pushed him away from him in disgust and then -

Thanos woke up from his sleep, bathed in sweat, when he saw your face in his field of vision. “Finally, you're sleeping like a dead man. There's some guy at the door who wants to talk to you,” you told him as he sat up tiredly while slowly recovering from his strange dream.

That's right. You weren't just some hot girl he met at the club, you were his fucking roommate. Thanos discreetly pushed more blanket over his lap as he tried to shoo you away from his room with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah - I'll be right there, just - give me a moment,” he said without looking you in the face.

You just sighed slightly and complied with his request, though not without letting him know how unhappy you were. “I told you to stop giving our address to these dealers. I don't like it when they show up here,” you grumbled under your breath before dashing out and closing the door behind you.

After that, Thanos let out a very heavy sigh and stroked his face aggressively. “Now she's showing up in my dreams, too? Fucking great.” he grumbled to himself and got up from the bed to put on some decent clothes. His eyes met his own reflection as he pulled a shirt over his head. “Get a grip man, what's wrong with you?” he asked himself as he grimaced in annoyance. “You're Thanos the destroyer, not some kind of -”

“Stop taking so long and come here already!” your voice suddenly shouted, coming through his door slightly muffled.

He looked even more annoyed at that and made his way to the living room while shouting back at you. “I'm fucking on it, alright!” and it only took a few loud steps from him to your front door for him to yank it open to fix the damn problem. He looked at his friend, completely bothered by his presence. “What do you want?” he asked him and was kinda glad that it at least wasn't Nam-gyu because he just really didn't want to see his face at the moment and probably for a little while.

“Hello, to you, too.” the man in front of him greeted him, already used to his weird mood swings. “I just wanted to do you a favor by bringing you some of the pills you wanted because last time you almost beat me up when I didn't have them with me,” he explained, holding the bag, which Thanos grabbed instantly before inspecting it more closely. “Don't act like you didn't deserve it, I paid you the money in advance, man. Of course, I was angry,” he complained again and would probably have beaten him up for real right now if he had ruined his morning over something completely unnecessary. However, he would still have to make sure that something like this didn't happen again so that you didn't have another reason to kick him out of the apartment.

“You know, maybe this was meant to be. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been greeted by an absolute hottie today,” he said happily as he stood there, still interested. “Is she your cousin or something? Do you want to introduce me to her?” he asked and was quite confident in the way he acted, but Thanos just looked at him emotionlessly for a few seconds until he slammed the door in his face.

"Okay, he's gone now!" he exclaimed, bored, and made his way into the kitchen, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee or something while scrolling on your phone. "Don't open the door for that guy if he shows up again," he said, grabbing a cold Sprite from the fridge. You just looked at him with a displeased look. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll make sure that he and no one else shows up after today. But, I'm just saying that in case it still somehow happens."

Thanos then opened the can and drank from it while he continued to watch your face from the side. Eventually, he sat down next to you, although, to his dissatisfaction, that didn't seem to get your attention. "Hey, you want to go on a date?" He asked, and you weren't sure how many times he asked you that by now. You kept scrolling on Instagram. "You know my answer to that."

Thanos continued to grin hopefully. "Yes?" he asked and then watched you disappear out of the kitchen with your cup of coffee in your hand - probably to your room. "You should be glad that I'm even asking you! Other girls would die for..." he muffled towards the end before he stopped talking entirely once he realized that you weren't giving him a reaction.

Maybe, I should just go back to sleep, he thought to himself dejectedly, unable to believe that he had actually better chances with you in dreams with pink elephants and breakdancing dogs.

[nereidprinc3ss]

baby fever

in which reader and spencer discuss having a baby while at work

fluff warnings/tags: fem/AFAB!reader, bau!reader, BOYFRIEND!SPENCER or husband if u so desire, discussions of pregnancy/having a baby (obviously), reader wants a baby, so does spencer a/n: god i need him so badly. should i write follow up smut?? mwahaha evil emoji......

The coffee finished brewing minutes ago, but you’re still standing by the pot, watching Anderson’s daughter toddling around the bullpen on chubby legs. She’s not very adept at walking, but her spirit is indomitable—every time she tips a little too far forward, she catches herself and gets right back up. It’s not like she’s doing anything particularly impressive or even interesting, but you can’t take your eyes off her. Every movement makes your heart twinge, every giggle or curious quirk of her head is so adorable it physically hurts in your chest. 

From your peripheral vision you see Spencer approaching, bearing his own empty mug, but not even he can draw your attention away from the adorable little pixie and her tutu and her pigtails. 

“That is the cutest kid I have ever seen in my life,” you whisper to Spencer, hoping the quiet tone of your voice will help hide how much you feel like cooing and squealing. 

He smiles to himself as he pours his coffee. 

“That’s Rosie. Have you said hi yet?” 

“I’m afraid if I talk to her I’ll try to keep her.” 

“She is pretty adorable.” 

You turn to him as he leans next to you on the counter, sipping his coffee casually. 

“Adorable? Spencer. Puppies are adorable. You’re not understanding the magnitude of what I mean right now. I can’t explain to you how much adorable doesn’t cut it. I’m not kidding about the child abduction thing.” 

HIs eyes slide around the room as he chuckles into his mug. 

“Let’s maybe not joke about kidnapping a child in FBI headquarters.” 

“I’m not joking,” you hiss. “I feel like I’m going insane. I just—” 

At the last second you stop yourself, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“You just what?” Spencer asks, adjusting the hem of your shirt with his free hand. You glance down, watching the care he takes in the tiniest detail that you wouldn’t have given a second thought to. 

“Is something wrong with my shirt?” 

His eyes flick up to yours, hazel tinted with mild surprise. 

“No. It just was sliding up your waist a little bit.” As he says it, his knuckles brush the bare skin of your torso. You suppress a shiver, studying his profile once he pulls his hand away and goes for another sip. 

“Can we have one?” 

Your inopportune timing results in coffee dribbling down Spencer’s chin as he quickly attempts to wipe it away, wide eyes torn between you and trying to assess the mess he’s made. 

“You--you mean like a baby?” 

“Yeah, like a baby,” you say, grabbing his shoulders and squaring them to you before dabbing the coffee from his face and jacket. He watches on as you clean him up, completely still except for his wandering eyes. 

“I thought we were waiting on that.” 

“Waiting for what? A better time? There’s never going to be a good time with this job. And it’s not like we’d have to quit. Look at JJ. She has two and still does it.” 

“First of all,” Spencer begins, quickly recovering from your surprise proposition, “I don’t love the idea of either of us being in the field with you pregnant. And secondly, JJ also has Will and her mother to take care of the boys. We don’t have that. We’re both here all the time.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, trashing the paper towels once you’ve done the best you can with his clothing. “We’d figure it out somehow!” 

“Mhm. It sounds like you’ve really devoted some careful consideration to this.” 

You drop your head to your shoulder, giving him your best puppy dog eyes and pulling lightly on his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh, come on. You haven’t thought about it at all? My perfect brain and your pretty face fusing to create a future Nobel-prize winner? Imagine how cute she would be, Spencer, we could put her hair in little braids and pigtails and we could dress her up and she could be in soccer and ballet and—” 

“She?” he smiles, studying your face intently. You roll your eyes. 

“Yes, she. Obviously we would have a girl. You—” 

The idea of Spencer as the father of your daughter hits you like a tidal wave, stopping you dead in your tracks. The images materialize in your mind’s eye so clearly, it’s like they’re already memories, so real and tangible you have no doubt it must come to fruition someday. But if before, your ranting was mostly a silly fantasy—now it’s become a bit more intense. 

He seems to sense your shift in mood. The big smile thaws slightly as he subtly grabs your hand on the counter. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

There he goes again. Being kind. Being perfect. 

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.  

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I just... didn’t realize how badly I actually wanted that until I said it out loud.” 

The concern in his eyes softens to pure affection as he runs his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“I want it too. And whenever you decide you’re ready I’ll drop everything for you.” 

His words are like compounding pressure to the deep heat within you—forming something so solid and perfect you don’t have to wonder if it’s real. A ten on the Mohs scale, a concept that gets closer to actualizing by the minute.  

Your voice is quiet, revelatory as you admire the amber facets in his eyes. 

“You’re ready?”  

“I’ve been ready for quite some time,” he admits. And at once you feel the certainty of him paint your past and your future with one broad brushstroke. One day you will look back on your life and remember the time before Spencer, and that will be it. There is before Spencer, and with Spencer, but never an after Spencer. He wants to create something utterly permanent with you. “Come here.” 

He sets his mug down, carefully pulling you forward so you’re toe to toe with your back to the rest of the BAU; so that only he can see you. Despite how good the two of you are at avoiding PDA, occasionally an exception is made. He tenderly wipes away the few tears that have sprung from your waterline and accepts your arms around his waist, mirroring your embrace and completely enveloping you.  

“I love you,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, quiet enough that nobody in the office has a chance of hearing it. You sniffle. 

“I love you too. Also you smell really good.” 

He chuckles, hand roaming up and down your back for a moment. 

“And that is why we are holding off on this at least for a while.” 

“What do you mean?” you whisper indignantly as he gently peels you off him. His hands remain a steadying force on your waist as he smiles down at you beatifically. 

“I mean let’s give it two weeks and see if you still want a baby when you’re not ovulating.” 

[blackbat05]

Fateful Encounters

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Plot: After a hard week at the library, you meet an enigmatic stranger with the help of your beloved dog. During TFATWS timeline.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: And I’m going to watch him on big screen today?!!!?Was in a funk so really glad I got this out! This is a complete rewrite to (Mixup) So excited to see him on Big Screen too after writing for him for so long! Enjoy!!! Tag: @the-slumberparty for 2025 challenge!

“Thanks for today!” You call out to Sophie who urges you to get out of the library and enjoy the weekend.

“Hey! Thanks for bringing Bubbles! They really loved her at the session today.” Sophie bends down to give my lovely Goldie, Bubbles a head pat. “You did such a good job!” She addresses the joyful pooch who gives a bark of acknowledgement.

You bid Sophie goodbye and lead Bubbles out into the cold evening of New York for a hearty dinner and another job well done for the week at the library.

“Well done girl! Where shall we go?” You ask Bubbles who gives a tug on her leash, leading you down the familiar path to both your favourite cafe near the library. “Of course, why did I even ask.” You smiled.

The cafe that you frequented when you first arrived in the bustling city was starting to become crowded on a Friday evening. Family and friends gathered to enjoy the start of a weekend. Bubbles obediently waits in line as you ordered a chicken rice bowl for yourself and a specially curated shredded chicken and pepperoni pizza for Bubbles who is almost pulling you the other direction the moment you finished payment.

“Girl! Slow down. There’s still seats.” You were confused at her sudden excitement at something. You follow her line of sight only to see a lone man gazing out of the window, lost in thought. Bubbles continues to drag you towards the said man, much to your horror.

“Bubbles! No! There’s other seats! We’re not disturbing the poor man!” You hissed under your breath. Unfortunately, it falls on deaf ears as Bubbles only becomes stronger. “Bubbles! Oh- hi!”

You quickly revert to what you assume is a calm and composed version of yourself when internally, you’re freaking out. For a very good reason.

The man was gorgeous. As in, breathtakingly gorgeous. Donning a black leather jacket, you were mesmerized by his hazel coloured eyes that just sucked you in with each passing minute. It felt like it was just the two of you in the room, his soft lips catching your attention…

Bubbles nudges you hardly on the shin and you snap out of your lovesick induced haze. It is then that you notice that the man’s right eye is recovering from a bad bruise. You’re left to wonder what was the story behind that but you quickly pull yourself together because this is not the time to be ogling at the man like he’s an animal at the zoo. You certainly didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

“I’m so sorry, I’m not sure why Bubbles is acting this way.” You apologized. “We’ll just find a seat and be on our way.” You try to tug on Bubble’s leash without much success. Bless the man, he doesn’t seem bothered at all by your sudden appearance. In fact, he offers you the seat across from him. “It’s getting crowded, please.”

You thank him and quickly settle down across him. Bubbles takes no time in trotting over to her new found friend, resting her snout on his lap. “She likes you.” You observed. The man gives Bubbles a rub, much to her delight. “She never warms up to anyone that quickly before.”

“Well then, I must be a very lucky person.” He cracks a small smile before introducing himself. “Where are my manners? My name is Joaquin Torres.” Joaquin offers a handshake.

“Y/N L/N. We just came from the public library down the street.”

For the next few minutes, you fall into easy conversation about your job as a library assistant at the children’s section. You were absolutely out of luck when you were trying to search for a job fresh out of university. Although you could have gone into the corporate world and land a cushy job, you never felt that it was right for you to begin with. Your true passion lied with books and connecting with people about them. So one day, when you were absolutely tired of having to spend the whole day in front of a computer sending out resumes after resumes, you decided to head to the public library for a much needed escape.

“And lucky me, I saw the advert for the job. So here I am.” You beam inwardly at the memory. It was incredible really, how far you’ve come since then. “That’s enough about me, I would like to know more about you.” You say sincerely.

Joaquin fiddles with his teaspoon and you wonder if you’ve crossed the line. You start to open your mouth to apologize but it’s as if he can read your mind. “It’s only fair.” He brushes away your apology reassures that you’re not forcing him.

“I used to be in the military, Air Force.” Joaquin tells you. “It was the best time of my life. But seeing people die, that chipped away at my soul.” A moment of silence passes, perhaps for the lives that were lost.

“This?” He points to his bruise. “I got it while on a mission in Europe. I was there for surveillance, but innocent civilians died on my watch by a group of terrorists claiming that they were making the world better.” Joaquin tells me bitterly. Bubbles gets up and presses her body against Joaquin’s legs, as if she could sense the agitation radiating from him. He looks down and gives her another rub of thanks.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. No one should ever have to go through something so horrific. Thank you for telling me.”

“It was actually something that I needed to do actually.” Joaquin confesses. “My Captain encouraged me to get therapy but it didn’t sit right with me.” He laughs at the thought. “I should thank you for sharing as well. It mustn’t have been easy, how you got here today.”

You were oddly pleased at Joaquin’s compliment. You knew that already, but having someone like Joaquin to acknowledge your struggles made you feel a connection with him.

As the customers continued to stream in and out of the cafe, you sat across the charming stranger-now-turned friend, sharing experiences living in the bustling Big Apple.

Bubbles whine, signaling that she was started to feel cooped out under the table. “Oh, I think that’s my signal.” You carefully eased the dog under the table. “Thank you for the company and conversation. I really needed that.”

“Same here. Take care.”

You stepped out into the chilly evening, heading back in the direction of your apartment. As you arrived back home, you let out a gasp of realization, causing Bubbles to be alarmed.

“Oh no! I forgot to ask him his number!” You groaned. Joaquin was a genuinely nice guy - a rare one these days. A rare one that you carelessly let out of your grasp like a slippery fish.

Hitting your head on the back of the sofa, you turned to Bubbles. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be huh girl?”

Bubbles let’s out a bark, bringing your backpack that you take to work everyday. Confused, you open up the bag, figuring that Bubbles wants to play with her blue plastic ball. Not that you were in a mood to play anyways. But dogs didn’t know that.

As you were about to throw the ball for Bubbles to fetch, she let’s out another bark. It is then you realized that there’s a white piece of paper sticking out of the ball’s cap. Unscrewing it open, a piece of paper that was ripped out from the order sheet at the cafe falls out. Opening it, you find a signature with a couple of words inside:

“Hey Y/N, I had a really great time talking to you. I know it sounds bonkers but I think I’ve hit it off with you and I don’t want this to be our only time. I don’t want to be a weirdo (or stalker) so this is my number. Call me when you’re ready.”

You hold the piece of paper in your hands, smiling from ear to ear. Perhaps you look a little deranged but the idea of Joaquin feeling the same way that you did was a god send. It really was a no brainer as to what you were going to do next.

Taking a deep breath, you dial his number that was given and hit the camera function while praying for the best.

After three rings, Joaquin picks up, his boyish features lighting up at the sight of you. Needless to say, it made you feel incredible. “I was praying that it wasn’t an unsuspecting old lady.” You crack a joke that earns a hearty laughter from the man.

“I’m glad you called.”

“So did I.”

Joaquin grins at your confession. “So… are you doing anything next weekend? I was thinking I could take you and Bubbles to this famous steak place.” It was adorable to see Joaquin nervous as he waits for your response. Joaquin must have sensed the cogs in your brain turning so he quickly adds, “I swear I’m not weird or anything. It’s just that I really liked talking to you that day and Bubbles! But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

“Joaquin!” You get his attention to stop him from rambling further.

“Yeah?”

“I was going to say yes either way.”

Joaquin blinks, slowly registering your words. “Great! That’s great! Um, bring Bubbles too! I want to see her again.”

You glance down at your beloved pooch who is wagging her tail at Joaquin’s voice.

“Oh she will. She’s definitely excited to see you too.” You laugh and pause for a moment, unsure if it’s too fast to say this. But hey, life is fleeting as it comes. So screw it.

“I’m excited to see you as well.”

[hazymoonlinh]

🤔 phainon x astral express member fem reader

Like he is fall in love with her in first sight when he first meeting with the other astral express member. In that scene when he suddenly appear and then he cut dan heng's weapon into two, thats where they first meet.

👀 Imagine how he try to impress fem reader by showing of his skill and flirt with her

Ahaha I have a lot of draft I write for him and my OC just like this. So this kinda base on those draft.

Really really love this! I hope you like it!

Our first meeting.

(Fluff, Phainon is head over heels with reader.)

Fem!reader.

“You’ve got something interesting,” Phainon drawled, his icy blue eyes scanning the group.

The clash of steel rang out sharply, echoing through the quiet ground of the abyss of fate. Phainon, with his usual flamboyant flair, emerged like a thunderbolt, took the trailblazer’s bat as he sliced Dan Heng’s spear clean in two. He landed with a smirk that could rival the sun, looking every bit the arrogant warrior he was known to be.

But then he saw her.

Among the stalwart crew of the Astral Express, she stood out—not because of her combat stance or any defiant glare, but simply because she existed. Her eyes, her presence, the way she carried herself—it hit him like a strike to the chest. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Phainon faltered.

“Oh,” he said under his breath, his smirk slipping for the briefest of moments.

“Who are you?” she demanded, stepping forward, her gaze sharp.

Phainon recovered quickly, his trademark grin returning. “Who am I? Why, I’m the one who’s just stolen your heart, darling.”

The group collectively groaned, except for her. She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Forgive me,” Phainon said, his tone deliberately melodramatic as he placed a hand over his chest. “I wasn’t expecting to meet someone so radiant today. I’m Phainon, by the way. Remember the name—I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

“Is he serious?” The Trailblazer whispered to Dan Heng, who was still glaring at his broken weapon.

“Unfortunately,” Dan Heng muttered.

From that moment on, Phainon became a constant presence, much to the frustration of the rest of the two Astral Express crew. Wherever she went, he wasn’t far behind, finding every excuse to be close to her.

“Need help?” he asked one day, leaning casually against a wall as she searched through the streets of the Okhema for treasures.

“I’m fine,” she said without looking at him, crouched over a map.

“Come on,” he said, stepping closer. “A treasure hunt’s no fun without a partner. Besides,” he added, flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m quite good at finding hidden things. Like your heart, for example.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I try,” he said with a wink, pulling out his weapon and twirling it effortlessly. “But in all seriousness, two sets of eyes are better than one. I’ll even let you keep all the treasure we find—consider it my gift to you.”

“Fine,” she relented, standing up and brushing off her hands. “But no more flirting.”

“Deal,” Phainon said, though his grin made it clear he had no intention of keeping that promise.

It didn’t take long for his antics to become a regular occurrence. Whether it was showing off his combat skills by slicing through imaginary enemies with theatrical flourishes or insisting on calling her nicknames like “starlight” and “darling,” Phainon seemed determined to leave an impression.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she asked one day as they walked through the streets, the sun casting a warm glow over the city.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Following me. Flirting with me. Trying so hard to impress me.”

He stopped walking, his expression softening. “Because I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he said, his voice sincere. “And I don’t want to miss my chance.”

For a moment, the playful mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the man behind it. And though she wasn’t quite ready to admit it, something about him was beginning to grow on her.

___

Few days later.

By now, Phainon had become a fixture in her daily life. His teasing had shifted into something more gentle, his playful remarks often followed by acts of genuine kindness. She’d catch him looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, his gaze softening in a way that felt different than before.

One evening, after a particularly difficult mission, Phainon appeared outside her quarters, holding something behind his back.

“Phainon, what now?” she asked, her tone flat but not unkind.

He grinned, stepping closer. “I’ve got a surprise for you, darling. Close your eyes.”

She raised an eyebrow, wary but intrigued. “A surprise? I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Just trust me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, playful but gentle.

Reluctantly, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was holding out a small, delicate flower—an exotic bloom with silver petals that shimmered faintly under the light.

“It’s a flower from a faraway land,” he said. “One that only blooms for those who capture my heart. Consider it a token of my affection.”

She stared at the flower for a long moment, the sincerity in his voice settling over her like a gentle warmth. “Phainon…”

“Don’t say a word,” he murmured, leaning a little closer. “I know I’m not easy to deal with. But I’m persistent. And for some reason, I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

She smiled softly, unable to hold it back. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He chuckled, handing her the flower. “Impossible… or irresistible? I’ll let you decide, starlight.”

In the days that followed, Phainon continued to find ways to be near her, whether it was sharing his battle strategies, teasing her during downtime, or offering to help with anything she needed—just so he could be close. There was no escaping him, but somewhere along the way, it began to feel less like an annoyance and more like a comforting constant.

Phainon, with all his pride, flirtation, and ever-present smirk, had carved a place in her life—and maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see him in a different light.

[georgeplease]

nobody asked but imma give it to you anyways

Fred has a crush on the shy Gryffindor in his year, they have never even given him the time of day. Until they did.

Imagining Fred Weasley being so in love with you during your time at Hogwarts. Having been in the same year and house, you often crossed paths, but unluckily you seemed more occupied with your friend outside of your house and books. It seemed while his antics usually garnered the attention of most of Hogwarts, they never seemed to capture your attention.

While he was the life of the party, you seemed to be outside of it. He had tried to impress you during his quidditch games, but you never showed up to any. Tried to show off his new products in the common room, but you were in your dorm reading. Even tried to talk loudly when he saw you were around, but you and your friends were too busy laughing on your way to class to even notice him. While most of the school didn’t even notice you, you barely even noticed him. It drove him crazy that he could get anyone’s attention, except yours.

Fred had all but given up on you, thinking it was more likely that Snape would wear a pink tutu than you giving him the time of day. He kept his crush mostly secret, only letting it pass to George once after they had too much fire whiskey and their late night talk got serious.

Once they left Hogwarts, he assumed he’d never see you again. You never seemed the type to enjoy their products and he had overheard you had plans to attend muggle college, studying some degree he couldn’t understand. Then the war hit its peak, and he was sure you had left for good. And he’s glad, he left the war with both physical and mental scars. Even if you never noticed him, he sure is glad you wont see him like this.

And how fucking wrong he would be.

Fred had been asked to grab a book from a muggle library, a gift for Hermoine and Ron. The town he had gone to was relatively quiet and he knew he looked stupid staring intently at his map as he tried to find the little bookshop. He’s scouring the bookshop, when he hears someone clear their throat. And he looks over to see you, finally noticing him, he almost thinks that a bus might’ve hit him and now he’s in a coma.

“Looking for anything specific, Fred?”

And now he really thinks that a fucking bus hit him, because there’s no way you know his name. For the first time, Fred Weasley is speechless. Quickly, he tries to recover, stumbling through his sentence as he explains his mission. You laugh, and it makes him so fucking flustered, making him realize he’s still mad about you. Leading him down the aisles to the correct book, asking questions about his life.

As you walk together, Fred realizes how different you seem, not as closed off as you had been in school. Not only that you finally noticed him, but you have this newfound brightness to you, more confident. It’s a good look on you.

When you hand him the book, Fred takes a chance to finally ask you out, something he’s been wanting to do for over 10 years now. Nodding yes, you exchange contact information, planning to meet up soon.

[dreamersworldduh]

Omg hiiii again,i don't know if you've watched Teen Wolf, but can you write of Stiles stilinski. Instead of Stiles liking Lydia since third grade, he's like the male reader instead, and he's finally wanted to make a move on male reader so he tries to show off at lacrosse practice but it failed and he continues until he finally confess to male reader. If it could get a little sexual at the end it would be soo appreciated 🙏🙏. Your works are still sooo good, and I loved my request you did. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

CLUMSY CONFESSIONS

• STILES STILINSKI x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Stiles Stilinski has spent years secretly in love with his best friend but never found the courage to confess. However, after an intense lacrosse practice where he pushed himself to impress you—only to end up in the hospital—he began to realize he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge. 

WORDS! 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with the sarcastic, witty and dashing, Stiles Stilinski. There’s a easter egg in there from one of my favorite movies—if you catch (you are awesome). This was fun to write—honestly there might be a part 2, but anyway I hope you enjoy ✨

Nine years, six months, and two days. That's exactly how long Stiles Stilinski has been in love with you—not that he's been counting or anything. Not that he lies awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling, replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance between you. Not that he marks the time in the way your laughter has changed over the years, from the high-pitched giggles of childhood to the softer, more knowing chuckles of adolescence.

It all started in third grade, in Mrs. Carter's classroom, where you plopped down beside him without hesitation, your pencil poised over wide-ruled paper, the scent of bubblegum lingering in the air between you. You were the first person to truly see him—not just as the hyperactive kid with too many thoughts and too little filter, but as Stiles. You noticed things, like how he bit his lip when he was nervous or how he tapped his fingers against his desk in a pattern only he understood. You laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones, and when he forgot his fruit snacks, you always—always—slid half of yours across the desk without a second thought.

At first, it was admiration, a simple fondness for the way you scrunched your nose when you concentrated, the way your hair caught the sunlight just right, the way you somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel special. But admiration turned into something deeper, something heavier, something that settled in his chest like an immovable weight. It was in the way his pulse stuttered when you linked your pinky with his during a scary movie, the way his stomach flipped when you ruffled his hair absentmindedly, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes even though he'd never had the courage to hold your gaze for too long.

Through the years, there have been countless moments—late-night talks where your voices dipped into whispers, study sessions where your knees knocked together beneath the table, inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. But through it all, Stiles has never let himself say the words that burn at the back of his throat.

Because as much as he aches for you to look at him the way he looks at you, as much as he dreams of your fingers lingering just a second longer when they brush against his, he's terrified. Terrified that if he speaks the truth, if he lets the love that has woven itself into his very being spill from his lips, he'll lose you. And losing you? That would be the one thing he could never recover from.

The connection between you and Stiles is so natural, so effortless, that his friends can't begin to comprehend the idea of you ever walking away from him. To them, you and Stiles are an inevitability, a force of nature, like the tide meeting the shore—constant, unwavering, and undeniable. If anyone is blind to the reality of the situation, it's him. Because to everyone else, what you share isn't just friendship. It's something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore, woven into the very fabric of your interactions.

Scott has lost count of how many times he's watched the two of you exchange nothing more than a glance before dissolving into laughter, as if carrying on an entire conversation without a single word. It's almost eerie how in sync you are, how seamlessly you anticipate each other's thoughts and reactions. He's seen it happen mid-battle, mid-study session, mid-sentence—you don't even have to try. It just happens.

Lydia barely suppresses an eye roll every time Stiles insists, "We're just friends." Because to her—and to everyone else—there is no just about it. She's analyzed every interaction, every lingering look, every moment Stiles gets that dreamy, faraway expression when you aren't paying attention. She's seen the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach for yours but doesn't, and the way his entire body relaxes the second you're beside him, like you're the one thing in the world that makes sense.

Even Malia, who isn't exactly known for her emotional awareness, has taken notice. More than once, she's tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the way Stiles instinctively moves toward you, how his body seems to orient itself in your direction even when you're across the room. Once, she even asked, completely deadpan, "Are you sure you're not mates?" Stiles choked on his drink, of course, but it didn't escape anyone's notice that he didn't actually deny it.

To them, it's not a matter of if you and Stiles will finally admit what's been obvious for years—it's a matter of when. Hell, half the pack already assumes you're together. And if they didn't know any better, they'd think you and Stiles were just keeping it a secret for the fun of it, stringing everyone along in some kind of elaborate inside joke. Because a connection like yours? It doesn't go unnoticed. It doesn't just exist without meaning something.

While your friends—and most of the pack—were convinced that you and Stiles were already a couple, the rest of the student body had their own interpretations. Sure, some people noticed how often the two of you were together, how your steps naturally fell in sync, how Stiles' entire demeanor shifted the second you entered a room. They saw the way he leaned in when you spoke, like every word that left your lips was something precious. But others? They didn't pick up on the unspoken language between you, the lingering glances that stretched just a beat too long, the way Stiles seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

No, they only saw what wasn't there—no hand-holding between classes, no kisses stolen by lockers, no official title to confirm what everyone else assumed. And because of that, they came to one simple conclusion: You were single.

Technically, they weren't wrong. But Stiles sure as hell didn't see it that way.

He stood beside his locker, fingers curled tightly around the strap of his backpack, jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfolding just a few feet away. One of his fellow lacrosse teammates—Jake something, because honestly, Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember—was leaning far too close to you, his forearm braced against your locker like some kind of wannabe heartthrob in a bad teen movie.

Stiles knew that posture. That smirk. That tone. He'd seen it a hundred times before, heard the fake charm laced in every word. And right now, every muscle in his body screamed that Jake wasn't just making conversation—he was flirting.

And worse? You were smiling. Not the dazzling, full-wattage grin that Stiles had practically built his entire emotional stability around, but a small, amused curve of your lips. A polite, entertained smile. But still, a smile.

Stiles' stomach twisted in frustration.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back to you every few seconds, like he couldn't quite tear himself away. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low and clipped. "He's not even funny. Or interesting. Or good at lacrosse, for that matter."

Scott, ever the reasonable one, placed a steadying hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Relax, man. If anything was really happening, you'd know. You two have a connection. Just talk to him."

But Isaac? Isaac had no intention of easing his suffering. With his usual smug grin, he leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but your boy over there?" He nodded toward Jake, who was still talking to you, still way too close. "He's one of the hottest guys in school. Aside from me, obviously."

Stiles scowled as Isaac flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, completely unfazed by the death glare he was receiving.

"It's only a matter of time before someone snatches him up," Isaac added, his smirk widening.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Wow. Super helpful, Isaac. Really appreciate it."

Scott shot Isaac a look, but the damage was already done. Because as much as Stiles wanted to brush it off, those words lodged themselves into his brain like a splinter. What if someone else got to you first?

That single thought sent a jolt of determination straight through him.

No. Not happening.

If there was ever a time for Stiles Stilinski to stop hesitating, to quit hiding behind fear and excuses, it was now. Because if he didn't make a move soon, someone else would. And there was no way in hell he was about to let that happen.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling gold and amber hues across the lacrosse field, you settled onto the bleachers, the cool metal beneath you warmed by the lingering heat of the day. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—the rhythmic thud of lacrosse balls meeting sticks, the sharp calls of the coach barking orders, the occasional grunt of exertion as the team wove through their drills. Your eyes, however, were locked onto one player in particular.

Stiles Stilinski.

Despite his usual chaotic, slightly uncoordinated energy, there was something different about him tonight. He was focused. Determined. Almost... competitive?

From across the field, he spotted you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His face lit up instantly, a grin stretching from ear to ear. With one hand gripping his lacrosse stick, he lifted the other in an enthusiastic wave—so enthusiastic that he nearly lost his grip on his stick in the process. You chuckled, returning the gesture with a playful wiggle of your fingers, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Unfortunately, your little moment didn't go unnoticed.

"Trying to impress someone, Stilinski?"

The voice came from beside Stiles—Jake Matthews, one of the more arrogant players on the team. The same Jake who had been leaning against your locker earlier that day, trying to charm his way into your good graces. His tone was casual, laced with teasing, but there was an unmistakable challenge woven beneath it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced between Stiles and you.

Stiles' grin vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl as he turned to face Jake. Oh, this guy again.

"I don't need to try," Stiles shot back, tightening his grip on his stick. "Some of us have natural charm. You wouldn't understand."

Jake scoffed, twirling his lacrosse stick with an easy confidence. "Right. We'll see about that."

And just like that, the game was on.

What should have been a standard practice turned into something else entirely—an all-out competition. Every drill, every pass, every shot suddenly became a battleground. Jake, fueled by his own arrogance, made a show of his skill, dodging past defenders with ease and landing shots with near-perfect precision. But Stiles—fueled by sheer stubbornness and the undeniable need to win—was playing with an intensity no one had ever seen before.

He ran harder, passed sharper, and somehow—somehow—even managed to score a few impressive goals. The kind that made both Scott and Isaac stop mid-conversation and exchange stunned glances.

"When did that happen?" Isaac muttered, arms crossed as he watched Stiles maneuver around a defender with surprising finesse.

Scott shook his head, equally baffled. "I have no idea. But I think we just found his greatest motivation."

It wasn't just effort. It wasn't just determination.

Stiles was playing for you.

And honestly? It was kind of working.

Until it wasn't.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the overwhelming urge to one-up Jake. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that he could still see you sitting on the bleachers, eyes trained on him, an almost amused little smile playing on your lips.

Whatever the reason, Stiles got cocky.

Going for what was supposed to be his grand finale, he sprinted across the field, angling himself for an epic shot—one that, in his head, would be flawless, the kind of goal that would leave you thoroughly impressed. But instead of landing his cinematic moment of triumph, disaster struck.

His foot caught in the turf.

Time seemed to slow as he realized—far too late—that there was no saving himself from what was about to happen.

With a graceless flail and a yelp of pure panic, Stiles went down. Hard. His lacrosse stick tumbled from his grip, skidding across the grass, and a collective wince rippled through the field as he landed in a heap, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the air.

A second later, a low groan escaped his lips.

Scott was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees. "Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, mentally assessing the damage before attempting to sit up. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he grumbled, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath and clutch his ankle. "Okay, nope. Not fine. Definitely not fine."

Isaac, standing over him with a smirk, tilted his head. "Hate to say it, Stilinski, but I think your charm just backfired."

Despite the pain radiating from his ankle, Stiles still found the strength to glare up at him. "Wow. So helpful, Isaac. Truly."

Scott sighed, already prepared to help him off the field, but Stiles barely registered it. Because even as his pride (and his ankle) throbbed in agony, his gaze flickered toward the bleachers—toward you.

Your expression was a mix of amusement and concern, but the fact that you were concerned at all sent a different kind of ache through Stiles' chest—one that had nothing to do with the fall.

Because twisted ankle or not, humiliating wipeout or not, one thing was crystal clear.

He wasn't going to stop fighting for your attention.

Not now. Not ever.

The hospital room at Beacon Hills Memorial was as sterile and dimly lit as ever, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the walls. The scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets filled the air, but none of that mattered to you. Your arms were crossed as you stood beside Scott, watching Melissa McCall—Beacon Hills' most capable nurse and, more importantly, Scott's ever-reliable mother—wrap Stiles' ankle with practiced efficiency.

Her movements were swift yet careful, the kind of precision that only came from years of experience. She worked as she spoke, her voice both professional and motherly, a perfect blend of authority and care.

"You're lucky," she said, securing the bandage with a firm but gentle touch. "It's just a minor sprain. Stay off it for a few days, maybe use some crutches if it starts hurting too much. And—" she shot Stiles a knowing look before he could so much as open his mouth, "no attempting to run around on it like an idiot."

But Stiles wasn't listening.

His focus wasn't on Melissa. It wasn't even on his ankle.

It was on you.

Scott, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. He caught the way Stiles was staring—completely unaware that he was doing it, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that would've been impossible to miss if you'd only turned your head.

Scott sighed. Here we go.

With an exaggerated stretch, he clapped his hands together and glanced at his mother. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go check on the nurse's station?" His tone was casual, too casual. "Y'know, in case they need you for anything?"

Melissa blinked, confused. "Scott, I work here. If they need me, they'll—"

"Great, let's go." Scott didn't give her a chance to finish, already ushering her toward the door with the determination of someone trying to prevent an impending disaster.

Melissa shot him an unimpressed look as he all but shoved her into the hallway. "Subtle," she muttered before the door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Stiles alone in the quiet hum of the hospital room.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The distant beeping of machines filled the silence, along with the faint murmur of nurses and doctors just beyond the door. Stiles shifted slightly on the bed, drumming his fingers against the railing, the metal clinking softly under his touch.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat and attempted a casual smile—his signature smile, the one that had always been a little awkward but undeniably charming.

"So," he started, dragging the word out, his voice just a little higher than usual. "You, uh... you saw that, huh? The game. The practice. Me. Doing well for once."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Yeah. That was... a first."

Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. "Wow. Wow. So little faith in me. I'm wounded. Emotionally and physically."

You grinned, shaking your head. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you play like that before. I mean, you were actually keeping up with everyone."

Stiles scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Okay, that's fair."

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the room easing just enough for Stiles to relax against the pillows.

But then, curiosity flickered in your expression as you leaned against the hospital bed's railing. "So... what was that all about, anyway?" You lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, I've seen you play before, but never like that. You were on fire."

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to toss out some half-hearted excuse—something about adrenaline, maybe sheer dumb luck. But before his brain could catch up, the truth just slipped out.

"Well, yeah. It was because of you."

The second the words left his mouth, his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, mouth snapping shut like he wanted to reel them back in, as if he could somehow undo what he had just confessed.

You blinked.

Stiles panicked.

"Uh—I mean, not like because of you, you," he rambled, his hands flailing as he scrambled for damage control. "But, like, inspired by you. Or, uh, motivated? Encouraged?" His voice pitched higher with each word, his hands now waving in frantic gestures. "Not that I'm saying you specifically motivate me, but—well, actually, no, that is what I'm saying, but not in a creepy way, just in a totally normal and cool way—"

"Stiles."

He froze.

You had your arms crossed now, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "So what you're saying is... you were trying to impress me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

Stiles let out a strangled, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted anywhere but at you. "Pfft, no! Of course not! ...Maybe."

A slow smirk spread across your face.

Stiles groaned, immediately flopping back onto the hospital bed with a dramatic sigh, one arm thrown over his face like he couldn't bear to see your reaction.

"Kill me now."

Your laughter rang through the small hospital room, light and effortless, cutting through Stiles' dramatic groan as he buried his face in his hands. His fingers gripped his hair in frustration, as if sheer force could undo the last sixty seconds of his life.

Rolling your eyes, you reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrists, and gently tugged them away from his face. Stiles resisted for about half a second before relenting, his hands falling limply to his sides, revealing a face that was, without a doubt, very pink.

His expression was a perfect storm of embarrassment and something else—something softer, something hesitant, something that made your stomach flip if you let yourself think about it too hard.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic," you teased, keeping your hold on his wrists as you leaned in slightly. "It was kinda cute, actually."

Stiles blinked. "Cute?" His voice cracked on the word, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the moment he realized it, he immediately cleared his throat, forcing a more neutral expression—one that utterly failed to hide the way his ears had gone red.

You only grinned, giving his hands one last tug to pull him forward.

And that's when it happened.

You had moved without thinking, stepping closer in the process, and suddenly, you were standing between his legs. His knees bracketed your body, the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of his hospital shorts.

Stiles definitely noticed.

His breath hitched. His brain stalled. His hands, which had instinctively found their way to your waist to steady himself, froze.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could not not think about the fact that you were right there—closer than you'd ever been, close enough that he could count the flecks of color in your eyes, close enough that if he tilted his head even slightly, your lips would be—

Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there.

Stiles tried to focus on anything else—the distant beeping of machines, the muffled voices of nurses in the hallway, literally any other thought that wouldn't make him combust in real time. But you weren't making it easy. Not with your hands still loosely gripping his wrists, not with your body so close, not with that teasing smile that made his heart do things it had no business doing.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he quickly ripped them away, gripping the edge of the hospital bed instead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Meanwhile, you seemed completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening in Stiles' head. Instead, you just tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"You good?" you asked, watching the way his entire body had gone rigid.

Stiles let out a noise that was supposed to be a casual laugh but came out more like a strangled wheeze.

"Yeah! Yep. Totally fine. Just, uh..." He forced a lopsided grin—one that was more nervous wreck than charming rogue. "Just... sitting here. With a sprained ankle. And my very attractive best friend standing way too close and—"

His mouth snapped shut.

His eyes widened.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. "What was that?"

Stiles slapped a hand over his face so fast it was almost comical. "Nothing. Didn't say anything. Please disregard."

But you just smirked.

Leaning in ever so slightly, you lowered your voice just enough to make Stiles' stomach flip.

"Stiles," you murmured, tilting your head. "Are you nervous?"

Stiles groaned, flopping back against the pillow like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I hate you."

You just laughed again, and despite his sheer, complete mortification, Stiles was pretty sure that sound alone could heal his ankle faster than any of Melissa McCall's medical expertise.

You then reached forward and nudged his shoulder—not hard, just enough to jolt him out of his spiraling self-destruction. His head lifted slightly, his brown eyes meeting yours again, still wide from his earlier slip-up. You could see the wheels turning, his brain scrambling at full speed, desperately trying to figure out how to recover, how to backtrack, how to un-say the words that had already left his mouth.

But before he could even attempt an escape, you smirked.

"You know," you said casually, tilting your head, "for someone who thinks I'm attractive, you don't seem to realize you are too."

Stiles blinked.

His lips parted slightly, like his entire operating system had just crashed, his brain throwing up an error message in real time. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—his face flickering between shock, confusion, and sheer disbelief, as if he had just misheard you. As if he needed a full system reboot before he could process those words properly.

"I—wait—what?"

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. "I'm serious, Stiles. You're really attractive." You shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just figured someone should tell you, since you clearly don't hear it enough."

Stiles made a noise.

A noise.

Something between a strangled laugh and a dying animal, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers fidgeting like he suddenly had no idea what to do with them. He sat up a little straighter—well, tried to—but in doing so, he only ended up shifting closer, his knee brushing against the side of your leg.

And that was when he realized—again—just how close you were.

Oh, God.

His brain was overheating.

Before he could spiral any further, you leaned in.

His breath hitched.

The world tilted.

Your voice softened, something warm and undeniably real threading through it. "And... I'm really proud of you, you know." Your eyes searched his, the words landing in the space between you like something solid, something true. "You played amazing out there."

Stiles swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure which part was making his heart race faster—the fact that you were still standing between his legs, the way your voice sounded so genuine, or the fact that—

Oh.

Oh.

You were leaning in even closer.

His breath caught entirely when your lips pressed softly against his cheek, warm and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The heat of the contact sent a shiver down his spine, burning through him, leaving a brand behind.

His entire body locked up.

Every single nerve in his system short-circuited.

By the time you pulled back, Stiles was frozen.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes impossibly wide. Heart definitely no longer beating at a survivable rhythm. If it were anyone else, you would've assumed he had stopped breathing altogether.

You tilted your head, amused. "You okay there, Stiles?"

Stiles slowly blinked.

Then, with absolutely zero control over his own reactions, he squeaked—an actual, audible squeak—before aggressively clearing his throat and scrambling to collect himself.

"Y-Yeah! Yep! Totally fine!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he winced. "Just—just processing. You know. Uh. Normal stuff. Normal processing."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. "Glad to hear it."

Stiles, meanwhile, was pretty sure he was never going to recover.

For the rest of the week, Stiles could not stop smiling.

It was actually getting ridiculous.

Every time he so much as thought about that moment in the hospital—the soft press of your lips against his cheek, the warmth of your voice when you told him he was attractive, the way you had stood so close, right between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world—his face would break out into a stupid, lovesick grin that he couldn't wipe off no matter how hard he tried.

Scott had definitely noticed.

So had Lydia. And Isaac. And literally everyone who interacted with him for more than ten seconds.

"Okay, what is wrong with you?" Lydia had asked at lunch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she watched him stare off into space with the goofiest smile she'd ever seen. "You look like a golden retriever that just got praised for doing a trick."

Scott, already knowing exactly what was going on, just smirked and shook his head. "It's about you know who."

Isaac, biting into an apple, tilted his head. "Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome. Classic case."

Stiles snapped out of his daze immediately, scowling. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome is not a thing."

Isaac took another bite. "It is now."

But as much as Stiles tried to brush it off, he knew they weren't wrong. Because no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he kept circling back to the same conclusion:

He had to tell you how he felt.

He couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there, couldn't keep shoving his feelings down just because he was scared of what might happen. You liked him—maybe not in the exact way he liked you (yet), but you had to like him at least a little, right? No one just casually calls their best friend attractive and kisses them on the cheek like that unless there's something there.

Right?

Oh, God. What if he was reading this all wrong?

What if it was casual for you? What if you just saw him as a best friend, nothing more?

What if he confessed and completely ruined everything?

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he sat slumped over his desk at home, staring blankly at his notes for a history test he definitely wasn't studying for.

But then his mind wandered back to the way you had looked at him in that hospital room, the way you had smiled right before kissing him, the way you had stayed by his side, even when you didn't have to.

And that's when he decided—screw it.

He needed to tell you. Because the way his heart had been feeling lately? He wasn't sure it could handle keeping this to himself any longer.

Stiles knew he had to find the right moment to tell you how he felt—really tell you. Not in a half-mumbled, nervous slip-up. Not in an awkward, flustered compliment that he immediately tried to backtrack. No, this had to be something big, something meaningful.

That moment didn't come right away.

In fact, it didn't come until the championship lacrosse game.

Beacon Hills was up against one of the toughest teams in the league—the Cyclones—and to say it was an intense game would be an understatement. The air was thick with tension, the crowd was electric, and every player on the field was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

The game had been brutal—fast breaks, bone-rattling defense, near-impossible shots that somehow found the net. By the final quarter, Beacon Hills was up by just one point. One more goal, and they'd win the championship. But if they missed? If the Cyclones countered?

They'd be going home humiliated.

The pressure was insane.

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles stood tense on the field, eyes locked on the opposing team as they strategized their next move. Sweat dripped down Stiles' temple, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

And then—because the universe was a cruel, cruel place—the ball ended up in his stick.

Everything stopped.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world had gone silent.

The pounding of footsteps, the roaring of the crowd, the whistles and frantic calls from the sidelines—all of it faded into a distant hum as Stiles stared at the lacrosse ball nestled securely in his net.

He swallowed hard.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was bad.

If he made this shot, he'd be a hero.

But if he missed?

If he missed...?

He would never hear the end of it. Not from his teammates. Not from the school. Not from literally anyone who had ever met him.

Stiles tightened his grip on the stick, fingers clammy, his pulse wild. He could do this. He just had to—

And then, in the midst of the chaos, he heard it.

"You got this, Stiles!"

Your voice.

It cut through everything, ringing loud and clear from the stands.

Without even thinking, Stiles turned his head toward the bleachers, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes locked on him, wearing a smile so bright, so damn confident, that his stomach flipped. Both of your thumbs were raised in encouragement, your expression screaming, C'mon, Stilinski, don't overthink it. Just take the shot.

For a second, the rest of the crowd seemed to fade, as if everyone else had noticed exactly who he was looking at. A ripple of murmurs passed through the stands, eyes shifting toward you, wondering why you of all people had chosen that exact moment to cheer.

But Stiles?

Stiles didn't care.

Because suddenly, the nerves? Gone.

The weight of the game? Didn't matter.

Because you believed in him.

Time seemed to slow down the moment Stiles swung his lacrosse stick, sending the ball flying through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

Everything—the pounding of his heart, the shouts from the sidelines, the sound of cleats scraping against the turf—faded into a distant hum as the ball spun in a perfect arc. It cut through the air, passing by outstretched sticks of the opposing players who leapt desperately in an attempt to intercept it. But Stiles had aimed it just right—just high enough to avoid their reach.

The goalie's eyes widened. He reacted a second too late, diving forward, his gloved hand stretching toward the ball in a last-ditch effort to swat it away.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like he might block it.

But then—

Swish.

The ball slammed into the net with a resounding thwack.

Silence.

For half a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Even Stiles, still frozen in his follow-through stance, wasn't sure if he had actually seen it happen or if his brain was playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

Then—

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The stands erupted. The entire Beacon Hills crowd exploded into cheers, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief as people jumped to their feet, screaming in celebration.

Stiles barely had time to process it before Scott tackled him from behind, practically lifting him off the ground. Isaac was right behind him, ruffling his hair and shouting something about how he actually pulled it off. Other teammates swarmed in, clapping him on the back, shaking him by the shoulders, shouting in his face like they couldn't believe it either.

But none of that mattered.

None of it even registered.

Because the only thing Stiles saw, the only thing that mattered, was you.

Still standing in the bleachers, still grinning from ear to ear, eyes locked on him like he was the only person on the field.

And that's when he knew.

This was the moment.

The deafening roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline pounding through Stiles' veins. His breath came fast, chest heaving, but he barely registered it. The celebration erupted around him—teammates shouting, hands slapping against his back, coaches cheering his name—but none of it mattered.

Stiles didn't think. He just moved.

He shoved past his teammates, dodging high-fives, ignoring the victorious yells, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward the bleachers. The crowd was a blur around him, faceless and unimportant, their voices lost to the singular, relentless thought hammering in his skull: Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

His cleats scraped against the turf as he vaulted over the barrier, weaving through the surge of students rushing onto the field. He hardly noticed the way some clapped him on the shoulder, how a few shouted his name in triumph.

Because you were all that mattered.

The second he reached the bottom of the bleachers, your gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, every hesitation, every excuse, every fear that had kept him silent over the years vanished.

Not anymore.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, pushing through the ache in his muscles, his pulse hammering harder with each step. His entire body was electric, wired with something more powerful than adrenaline, more overwhelming than victory.

And then, finally, he was standing right in front of you.

Your lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping as you opened your mouth to congratulate him—but you never got the chance.

Because Stiles didn't wait.

His hand lifted instinctively, cupping your cheek, his fingers feather-light despite the wild energy thrumming between you both. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, his touch softer than it had any right to be considering the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

His eyes searched yours for just a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see everything he had been too afraid to say, too scared to show.

And then, finally—finally—he closed the distance.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss raw, desperate, full of everything— every moment of hesitation, every ounce of longing that had been bottled up for years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, molding your body against his as he melted into you, as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The roar of the crowd, the championship, the entire world disappeared.

There was only this.

Only you and him.

And the only thought running through Stiles' head as he kissed you was:

Finally.

Suddenly, something cool and unexpected landed on his cheek. It was subtle at first—just a single drop of water sliding down his skin. He barely registered it, too caught up in you, until another followed. And then another.

He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as his eyes fluttered open.

And that's when he felt it.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall from the sky.

You both tilted your heads upward, watching as the dark night sky gave way to a soft, steady drizzle. The stadium lights caught the droplets as they descended, making them shimmer like falling stars.

But there was no rush for cover, no panicked scramble from the crowd.

No—if anything, the rain only seemed to heighten the energy. The cheers still echoed across the field, players and students alike embracing the moment, their victorious shouts mixing with the sound of raindrops hitting metal bleachers and dampening the turf.

Stiles, however, wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Because as the rain soaked into his jersey, cooling his flushed skin, his gaze drifted back to you.

You were still watching the sky, droplets catching in your hair, sliding down the curve of your cheek. And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned to face him again.

And you smiled.

A small, soft, knowing smile—one that made his breath hitch all over again.

"Congratulations," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos around you.

Stiles' heart stumbled, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect.

He returned the smile, unable to help the way his fingers instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower—less frantic than the first, but just as intense. Rain mixed between your lips, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the moment. His hands tightened their hold on you, as if anchoring himself to this, to you, to the undeniable certainty that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And as the crowd cheered, as the rain continued to fall around you, as everything else faded into the background, Stiles realized something—

Winning the game had been incredible.

But this?

This was the real victory.

As the rain continued to fall around you, soaking into your clothes and sending a pleasant chill down your spine, you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Stiles' gaze again. His brown eyes were still wide with disbelief, flickering with excitement and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you.

You leaned in close, your lips barely brushing against his ear as you whispered, "We should get out of here."

Stiles pulled back, blinking at you in surprise before a teasing grin spread across his face. "What? You scared of a little rain?" he teased, shaking his wet hair dramatically, sending tiny droplets flying everywhere. "C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that."

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer, your hands trailing up his damp jersey until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch, the steady rhythm growing faster the longer you lingered.

"That's not why we should leave," you murmured, your voice taking on a tone just sultry enough to make Stiles freeze.

His cocky expression faltered slightly. "Oh?"

You smirked, tilting your head as you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I just think... a champion deserves to be properly celebrated," you whispered, letting your voice drip with suggestion.

The effect was instantaneous.

Stiles practically short-circuited.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening against your waist as he processed what you just said. His face went through a series of rapid changes—shock, realization, then a dawning understanding that sent heat rushing to his face.

"Oh," he managed to breathe out, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, watching with amusement as his brain visibly scrambled to catch up.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Stiles grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he stepped back. "Right. Yes. Leaving. Immediately. Great idea. Fantastic idea."

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you along, both of you ducking through the rain as the cheers from the crowd faded into the background.

Because this night?

It wasn't over yet.

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in December - DC Comics Fic Rec List

Fell headfirst back into DC Comics for the first time in years this month. Reread some old favorites and discovered some new gems!

My January DC Comics fic rec list is here!

Heart, Humble by Betty (Mature, 8k, 2005) Jack Drake deals with finding out that Tim is Robin (poorly, and then not so poorly). THEE canon-accurate Jack Drake-focused fic of all time, this is canon in my heart.

Back then, all the boys his age had hero-worshipped costumed vigilantes. Jack supposes they still do.

Exit Strategy by smilebackwards/@smilebackwards (Teen & Up, 13k, 2021) Tim plans to leave a family he thinks he was never really a part of and decides to train Damian on how to run Wayne Enterprises before he goes. Delicious angst, excellent character work, and fun Wayne Enterprises worldbuilding.

Batman needs a Robin and Batman has a Robin. Tim is just extraneous now, vestigial. He’s a bandage over a healed wound. He doesn’t know what he’s hanging on to. Or: Tim didn’t expect his exit strategy from the Batfamily to involve quite so much bonding time with Damian over Wayne Enterprises bureaucracy.

On the Downbeat by medusaceratops (Teen & Up, 2k, 2019) Bruce and Jason talk while waiting in line at a drive-thru (featuring Gotham-typical violence and husborth-typical gorgeous prose). I've always adored husborth's Star Wars fics and I'm so glad I dipped my toe into their DC works, no one's writing hits quite like husborth.

Jason has recovered his sanity, and Bruce and Jason have recovered their relationship; but there are some things that are hard to forget.

A Zoo for Canines by medusaceratops (Mature, 45k, 2019) Part 2 of Zoology; Dick and Jason try to help Bruce recover from addiction. If you're used to fanon Dick Grayson (cheery, friendly, forgiving) you will not find him here - his anger and pain is ugly, raw, and so fucking captivating.

Edit: This fic and the series has since been deleted off ao3, though Part 1 (An Aquarium of Nameless Things) is still up; DM me if you'd like to read it.

Dick, Bruce, and Jason head out to a cabin in the mountains, and they handle things about as well as they handle anything.

All the Roofs of Uncertainty by Kieron_ODuibhir/@kieron-oduibhir (General Audiences, 70k, 2015) Dick almost dies and makes Jason promise to take care of the family for him. A masterclass demonstration on how DC fic can square all the wildly divergent canon versions of Jason Todd into a single compelling character.

For all the blood on his hands, Red Hood was never just a villain. And Nightwing never gives up on family, not for good. (Or: The one where Dick bleeds a lot and Jason argues with everybody.)

The Till-Then From the Ever-Since by Kieron_ODuibhir/@kieron-oduibhir (General Audiences, 85k (WIP), 2020) Kid versions of the whole Batfamily mysteriously time travel to the future! I livetexted a friend the whole time I read this so I could yell about how amazing the character writing is; also I'm wildly impressed with how the author deftly handles tons of dialogue-heavy scenes with like 12+ guys in it without anyone going unmentioned.

It began, or seemed to begin, with Jason. Usually that would have meant something in the order of fire and explosion and probably at least one gunshot wound, but for once (as Tim said, sourly), it wasn't actually Jason's fault.

only you will have stars that can laugh by silverwhittlingknife/@silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 9k, 2022) Dick finds out Tim is alone on Christmas and invites him to Babs' Christmas party. Discovered silverwhittlingknife through their galaxy brained Dick & Tim meta essays, stayed for every single line of Chapter 2 ripping out my heart and roasting it over an open flame.

You coming over is possibly the only thing that’s gonna stop me from wanting to punch your dad in the face, Dick doesn’t say. My current Christmas Day plans are 1) pace around at home, and 2) try not to obsess about what Bruce is up to, so trust me, you’ll be an improvement, Dick doesn’t say. Tim's alone on Christmas Eve. Dick finds out, and fixes it.

nerve endings by silverwhittlingknife/@silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 5k (WIP), 2024) Post-Catalina Flores, Dick, Tim, and Bruce go on a (canon-accurate) cruise and dance around their open wounds. This is a glorious example of "he WOULD fucking say that", Dick's voice is so canon-accurate that the angst is even more painful i cri

It's all right, even, to have a foreign hand pressing against his skin, testing him, testing his reactions. He keeps his breathing controlled. Just Tim, damn you, it’s just Tim, don’t fuck it up. Dick's on a cruise with Bruce and Tim. And he's fine. Mostly.

Red Letter Day by silverwhittlingknife/@silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 42k (WIP), 2022) Dick is sure the cryptic scribble in his agenda refers to something he's supposed to do for Damian, but he can't remember what. Mostly about Tim and Dick s l o w l y mending the post-Damian rupture in their relationship, but the whole family is here and Jason, especially, is fucking hilarious.

Dick Grayson, stressed pseudo-parent to a preteen assassin, tries to solve the case of Damian’s Mysterious Wednesday. He never expected it to help him fix his relationship with Tim, too. (… Though only after everything fell apart first.)

Gonna Be A Better One (A Thousand Miles To Your Door) by Traincat/@traincat (Teen & Up, 18k, 2011) Tim and Kon keep dating even after Jack forces Tim to retire as Robin. I reread this fic annually and every time am delighted to rediscover how funny and heartwarming and squee-inducingly kind it is, pure Timkon perfection.

In which Tim quits being Robin, Kon refuses to quit Tim and Ma Kent is full of relationship advice.

last light in a darkened room by bigdamnher0/@bigdvmnhero (Not Rated, 6k, 2024) Tim finds a distressing video of Robin!Dick and wishes that things were different. The whole fic, particularly Tim manifesting a happy ending in the bathroom, is a gorgeously crafted tragedy such that you're left kind of awed at how thoroughly massacred your heart and soul are post-read.

Tuesday morning: a video was uploaded to one of the deep web black markets. The footage, shot on those grainy vintage camcorders. But Tim knew that boy in the thumbnail; his eyes had memorized him, the heft and shape and dazzle of him, imprinting like an afterimage. Or: a brother is a witness; there's your tragedy.

buy back the secrets by sundiscus/@vinelark (Teen & Up, 91k (WIP), 2024) Superboy rescues civilian Tim Drake before learning that Tim is Robin and shenanigans ensue. I spent my whole holiday vacation intermittently screaming at this fic while my family members looked on with vague concern this fic is ADORABLE and AGONIZING and PERFECT please and THANK YOU.

He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.” Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

for the better

a/n: this is part 2 to know your worth. i’m sorry this took a bit of time but i just wanted to get some requests done before fully getting into this buttt i hope y’all like it.

read part 1!

this one is for @dandelions4us specifically 🫵🏼🫵🏼

pairing: billie eilish x reader

warning: bold-italics are flashbacks. ex-toxic relationship, mention of therapy, toxic coping mechanisms, trauma.

summary: billie tumbles while you thrive. can you manage to find each other again through this all?

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

tick, tock. tick, tock. tick, tock.

the dreadful noise of the second hand going on a full rotation was filling billie’s ears. she was overwhelmed and she didn’t want to be here.

“you mentioned last time that you had a partner…” the woman sat on a leather chair started. she was older and was graying, she wore glasses that were too small for her face. “a partner that you had let down.”

“yeah… i really fucked up there.” billie chuckled dryly. “i was horrible during the end of that relationship. it was amazing at first but after touring, i… i became horrible.”

“why do you think you became horrible?” the woman asked.

billie didn’t want to start therapy but her brother had convinced her to do it. she hated talking things out with a total stranger. but she knew she had to take a step towards getting better one way or another.

“i… i don’t know.” billie sighed in defeat.

“do you think it had something to do with your job?” the woman asked again. this was getting ridiculous. billie felt like the woman knew all the answers but was just trying to get billie to say them, she felt like she was back in school.

“maybe?” billie asked herself. “i think when i got back from touring, i realised how serious things were getting— not just with my relationship but with everything around me. i think i just wanted to be less serious? but i didn’t go about it very well. i royally fucked up. i should have been honest— i think things would have gone so much better.”

“it seems like you have a pretty good idea about what you need to work on.” the woman pointed out, impressed. “it was a lot better than our past sessions where you were lost. it seems like you’re starting to get a better grip on yourself.” she nodded in approval.

“i dunno, i think the break i took from working has been really good to me.” billie smiled a bit, she had decided to stop making music for the time being. it wasn’t forever but it was just to give her time to recover.

“do you want to get back together?” the therapist asked, tilting her head.

“yes. more than anything.” billie nodded. “i miss the love that i used to come home to everyday.”

“you could always call.” the therapist suggested.

“i don’t think i’d get an answer.” she huffed.

“you never know if you don’t try.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

that’s how billie ended up at a cafe with her leg shaking under the table, waiting for you.

she hasn’t seen you in months. she heard about you from her friends, she tried not to ask but sometimes it would slip out. your friends reluctantly answered out of pity.

you walked into the cafe. her jaw nearly dropped at the sight of you. a smile tugged at her lips. you had cut your hair and your fashion sense had changed, you cleaned up well.

your eyes scanned the room for billie, a small smile forming when you saw her. she looked almost the same, except she dyed her hair.

you were hesitant to come today, but you had done enough self-growth that you were confident enough to face her again.

you made a beeline for her table, sitting down across from her.

billie thought she knew what to say but she was mesmerised by you. you looked good and healthy, and even more beautiful than she anticipated. she wasn’t prepared to have her breath taken away by you.

“hey.” you said, settling down and flashing a smile at her.

“hi.” she responded, clearing her throat.

“um… hey.” you chuckled, raising your eyebrows. “it’s good to see you.”

“yeah, you look good.” she said as the waiter brought her order over. you ordered something for yourself as well while she was there.

the way your eyes twinkled when talking to someone else, that was never there before. you were always more introverted but suddenly it was like you had all the confidence in the world.

she fell in love with you all over again.

you turned back to look at her after ordering, crossing your legs one over the other. you smiled at the look on her face.

“you look surprised.” you pointed out.

“i mean… a little? you’ve changed… in a good way.” she said, sipping at her coffee. “you seem… um… more—“

“out there?” you completed her thought. “well, yes. i kind of put myself to the test. i finally used my savings to travel over the past few months. i kind of had to fend for myself— that involved putting myself out there.” you explained what you had been up to. “all those work hours finally did me good.”

“that’s… that’s really nice.” she said, staring at her coffee on the table. “where did you go?”

“german, greece, rome—“

“rome? you’ve always wanted to go.”

“mmhm. and i finally did. and i finished up my trip in london. i saw some of our friends that we made when i visited you on tour.” you said, scooting over to make room for the waitress putting your order down.

“that’s good, i know they would have been glad to see you.”

you let silence fall over the table for a second as you took a bite of the biscuit at the side of your plate.

“why’d you call?” you asked, cutting to the chase. you thought that there was no point in the small talk when there was clearly something looming over billie.

“oh!” she didn’t expect you to ask so quickly.

“sorry, it just seems like there’s something you’re wanting to say.”

“yeah… i’m uh, i’m in therapy.” she said, leaning back in her seat. “and i just… we’ve been working on how i can explain myself to you. i feel like you deserve that.”

“i would be lying if i said i wasn’t curious, billie. about our relationship ending…” you said, sighing. “feels like i never got closure.”

“that’s fair! and i guess that’s what i wanted to give you.” she said. “i don’t know why i did what i did exactly, because i could have handled it so much better.”

you nodded in anticipation.

“i felt old.” billie sighed out.

you almost let out a laugh but instead let out a stifled chuckle.

“old?”

“old… yeah, it sounds so silly.”

“billie, you’re not even 25.” you scoffed a little bit in disbelief.

“i know! which is why it’s silly.” she said, a little bit defeated. “it was all too much for me when tour ended. i realised how much i had missed with everyone back home. everyone was going to parties and i was stuck working in the studio all the time. i think our relationship took the brunt of it, it was all getting so serious so i took it out on you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “serious?”

“yeah… i used to think our relationship getting more serious and committed meant i had to settle down and grow up. i wasn’t ready for that. but i realised i was wrong. our relationship was my safe place to land, coming home to you was the best part of my day.”

“i didn’t realise you felt that way. i wish you told me.” you huffed a little, crossing your arms. “i would have helped you… whatever it took.”

“i know, and that’s why i regret it so much.”

“i kept replaying that fight in my head when it was all so fresh… i just felt like i was fighting with a stranger.” you felt your heart ache upon reliving those memories. “i had some hope that maybe you’d come to your senses that day, that maybe me saying something would be enough for you.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t. i was so stupid—“

“the worst part is that i never fell out of love with you for a second.” you confessed.

“what?” she asked, making sure she heard you right.

“i tried. i tried to hate you… believe me, i did. but i couldn’t.” you shook your head, finishing your coffee off.

“could we ever try again?” billie popped the question. she didn’t know what answer to expect from you. sure, you still loved her, but could you put yourself in that position again?

“i don’t know.” you said, truthfully. “it’s taking everything in me not to say yes, but i don’t know if i can do that to myself again. i think i’ve come too far.”

“then let me catch up to you.”

there she was. your billie.

you couldn’t hold back a laugh when you heard her say that.

“oh, billie. it’s good to have you back. it’s for the better.” you sighed through the smile that was plastered on your face. “well, how about this then?”

you took her phone that was sitting down on the table. she had reached out through a mutual friend but you didn’t have any other contact information.

“i’ll give you my number.”

thump. thump. thump

billie could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

“i’ll give you my number.” you said. billie had just met you that night but she was captivated by you.

you had gotten a job working tech at her release party. she saw you backstage and couldn’t take her eyes off you for a second. the way you tried to make sure that everything was perfect for her.

you were a face in the background and yet you were at the forefront of her mind the entire night.

“and you can call me and tell me where to be.”

“and you can call me and tell me where to be.” you giggled, teasing her a little bit. you found it amusing that one of the biggest figures in the world was chasing after you after the show.

she was panting a little bit, she definitely ran after you. her hands were on her knees for just a second while she introduced herself, trying to catch her breath.

you were on your way to your car, your bag already on your shoulder. she couldn’t let you leave without shooting her shot.

you handed her phone back to her.

you handed her phone back to her. she took it back in her hand and immediately pressed dial, you were still in front of her.

she pressed dial.

you rolled your eyes and picked up the phone, holding it up to your ear.

“tomorrow. dinner… at my place?” she said with a cheeky smile on her face.

“tomorrow. dinner… at my place?”

“sure. i’ll be there.”

“sure. i’ll be there.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

a/n: heyyy y’all i hope the switching between flashbacks & current time wasn’t too confusing. but i hope u enjoyed part 2 <33 much love mwah mwah

[ducksido]

Would it be possible to write the first years with a reader who suffers from gifted kid burnout because she thought excellence equalled love? Like, through elementary and middle school, she was perfect in everything, participated in every school event, knew practically everyone, teachers sang praises about her and used her as an example.

Then, in seventh free, she spiralled really badly. Her grades plummeted, she withdrew from social events her friend circle reduced, and her teachers were worried.

She recovered once she got to NRC and does fairly okay, but she never aims for that level of perfection again because, if she does it once, it'll be the bar for her to reach everytime which will just cause her to burn out again.

The culprit was her absent father. She wanted him to love her, so she ran herself to the ground trying to get that love, feeding off of everyone's praise and adoration until she could.

— 💖🌺

(alright 💖🌺)

You were the golden child. Elementary school felt like a stage you were born to perform on. Every talent show, every spelling bee, every quiz bowl—you were there. You were always on. Perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect grades, perfect smile. You learned early that applause filled the silence your father's absence left behind.

By seventh grade, it caught up to you. You dropped everything. No more 4.0 GPA. No more rehearsals. No more playdates. Your world quieted to a whisper, and nobody understood why.

Now, at NRC, you’re… not the same. Not in a bad way. Just… healthier. You do your work, you try your best, but never to the point where it costs you sleep or sanity. You don’t strive for perfection anymore—because perfection was a cage. And you know what? You’re okay with just being okay.

But your friends? They notice.

Ace Trappola

At first, Ace thought you were just "lazy talented."

"You aced Crewel’s quiz without even studying? Ugh, I hate you."

You laughed it off—what else could you do?

But then he saw how your hand trembled when he joked about how “you used to be a tryhard, huh?” You tried to laugh, but your fingers curled tight, nails digging into your palm.

Later that night, he found you staring blankly at your textbook, not turning the page.

“…Hey,” he mumbled, sliding onto the bench beside you in the library. “I was an ass earlier. Sorry.”

You gave him a weak smile.

“I didn’t know you used to push yourself so hard,” he added. “You don’t have to do that around us, y’know? I like you even if you bomb a test.”

He tapped his pencil on your arm. “If you get a bad grade, we’ll just cheat off Deuce’s notes together next time. Teamwork.”

You laughed. For real, this time.

Deuce Spade

Deuce didn’t get it at first, but when he did, it hit him like a truck.

When you once explained your burnout over lunch—how you'd chased praise like a starving dog because it was the only way you knew to feel loved—his whole expression crumpled.

“That’s—” he clenched his jaw. “That’s messed up. No kid should have to do that alone.”

He asked about your dad. You told him the truth.

"Never showed up. Not for recitals. Not for birthdays. I just wanted him to say he was proud of me."

Deuce got real quiet. Then he offered you the apple off his tray.

"You don’t need to chase anyone anymore. You’ve got us."

And when you won second place in Alchemy class and didn’t cry over not winning first, Deuce clapped harder than anyone else.

Jack Howl

Jack was the first to notice how disciplined you were—not in a good way.

You didn’t slack, but you always measured how much effort you gave. Never overdid it. Never underperformed either.

“You always pace yourself,” he commented once after P.E.

"Yeah," you shrugged. "If I do too well, people start expecting it. And I can't keep doing that."

Jack frowned, ears twitching. He got it. You weren’t lazy. You were tired—of expectations, of living for someone else.

“...You don’t have to impress me,” he said. “I respect you because you know your limits.”

And when Vargas gave you a B and you smiled—smiled, not cried—Jack gave you a nod of quiet approval.

Epel Felmier

You and Epel bonded over expectations—yours about perfection, his about masculinity.

“People always want somethin’ outta ya, huh?” he muttered once.

“Yeah,” you said. “They cheer when you give it, but they don’t see the cracks forming.”

He glanced at you sideways. “You’re not crackin’ now, are ya?”

You shook your head. “Not anymore.”

Epel doesn’t like sappy stuff, but he does show it. He always invites you to hang out even if you say no. Always saves you a seat. Always glares at anyone who tells you to “try harder.”

“You already tried more than enough,” he’d mutter. “Let yourself be.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek struggled to understand at first. “WHY DO YOU NOT STRIVE FOR EXCELLENCE?!”

But the moment you told him why, he shut up immediately.

“My father never praised me, no matter how much I achieved. I guess I thought if I could just be… perfect, he’d finally see me.”

Sebek, for once, had no loud retort.

"...That is not how love should work."

His voice was oddly quiet.

Over time, he adjusted. Stopped yelling when you didn’t study. Started encouraging you in a calmer way. He still cheered obnoxiously when you did well—but when you didn’t, he reminded you of your worth anyway.

"Your value is not in your grades, human. It is in your will."

And you smiled. Because someone finally saw you—not just your gold stars.

End

You’re not perfect anymore. But you’re present. You laugh. You cry. You rest. You breathe.

And the boys? They don’t want the golden child.

They want you.

[illubean]

HIHIHI!!! I've been following you for a while and i recently saw your toph! reader HC and I've been wondering if I could request for a katara! reader who's really good at waterbending and specialises on healing and blood bending? Could the characters be Gon, Killua, Illumi and the phantom troupe? Hope you eat well and stay healthy!!!

HXH W/ a Katara!Reader

Characters: Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck, Illumi Zoldyck, The Phantom Troupe Type: Headcanons, Fem!reader, Platonic

tried making this gn but then I ended up using fem labels a lot >.< also when I see "the phantom troupe" in headcannon requests im just going to write them collectively unless otherwise specified

Warnings: None

Gon Freecs

your older sister/eldest daughter syndrome is very evident around him

he probably doesn't pick up on it but everyone else sees how fiercely protective you are over him

you have a soft spot for children and Gon is literally the sweetest ever so you can't help but want to keep him safe

before the hunter exams, the only role models Gon has ever had in his live have been maternal figures (Mito and his grandma)

you end up becoming another one

which may also be part of the reason he is so respectful and kind

he's ok with your motherly nature mainly because he's very used to it and he can understand where you're coming from

he cares for you as if you guys were blood related

when he went cray in chimera ant arc you were the first person Killua and Leorio thought to call

yk because of your healing ability

you healed him the best you could before Alluka showed up

and scolded him immediately after he recovered

Killua Zoldyck

he likes someone with Toph's rebellious personality but you?

you're a total wet blanket...

your such a stickler, always trying to stop him when he's feeling mischievous

you remind him of how things were back at his estate...

you are not his mother stop acting like it

but whenever you protect him from getting seriously hurt or heal him he's reminded you have good intentions

he knows you're not trying to be manipulative and controlling but god pls loosen up

despite how distant he might present himself he can't help but grow a little emotionally attached to you

he's never had a healthy relationship with his mom...

you are the only normal motherly figure in his life

he acts like he can't stand how you fuss over him but in reality he cares for you deeply and kind of likes that you feel the need to be protective over him

Illumi Zoldyck

unlike his brother, he likes you a lot more than if you were to have Toph's personality

because you remind him of his mother

he doesn't mind your protective nature as long as you don't get in the way

your 'blood bending' technique is of great interest to him..

you are able to use it on normal days and don't have to wait for a full moon because this is my fanfic and I said so

it just happens to be at it's strongest on full moons

he probs starts keeping track of the moon cycles just to take you on missions and see you in action

with the blood bending technique you could literally stop any enemy

a very OP ability indeed....

which is why he keeps you around

you're strong and have a pretty normal personality so there's really no reason for him to dislike you

The Phantom Troupe

it's pretty 50/50 with them

and by that I mean some of them don't mind your motherly personality while others think it's annoying...

mainly Phinks and Feitan; they feel you're too bossy

but the entire troupe can agree that your nen is impressive

1) they have a healer now and 2) your blood-bending is some sort of secret weapon

you get along well with Nobunaga, bonding over your shared soft spot for children

Chrollo probs personally recruited you for your abilities seeing as he couldn't really steal them..

Machi likes having you around because now she has to stitch people up less often

when Kalluto joins, he becomes the one you're most protective over

the younger members see you as an older sibling figure

aka Shizuku(18) Kalluto(12) and Kortopi(he has no canon age as far as I know but I like to imagine he is a child rather than a small adult...)

[angelsuecult]

a lonely night | s. crosby

“it was the only time

and if i led you on then i apologize”

warnings: explicit sexual content, MDNI, 18+, nsfw, rough encounters, strong language, unprotected sex, smut

summary: what was meant to be a casual fling has sidney wanting more from a woman who has made her intentions clear.

wordcount: 4.2k

song: a lonely night - the weeknd

a/n: this is lowkey my first time ever writing something like this so it might not be the best but i like it. i hope you guys do too! also i didn’t proofread so it might be all over the place, sorry!

———

It was a crowded charity event, one of those high-profile affairs where athletes and celebrities mingle, the kind of scene Sidney usually tolerated more than enjoyed. He had just scored a hat-trick the night before, so naturally, the room was abuzz with people trying to congratulate him, trying to been seen with him. He wore that success with a bit more arrogance than usual tonight—shoulders squared, chin up, a smirk tugging at his lips as he worked the room.

You were there as well, not out of any real obligation but because your PR team insisted it would be good for your image. You moved through the crowds with an effortless grace, accepting compliments with a smile that never quite reached your eyes. You were used to this, to people fawning over you, wanting a piece of you. But you weren’t here for them.

When Sidney caught sight of you, something about your presence struck him—maybe it was the way you seemed almost indifferent to the attention you received, like you had better things to do. Or maybe it was the way your gaze, when it did meet his, was steady and unflinching, showing no sign of anything really.

He approached you with a self-assured stride, that trademark Crosby confidence, expecting you to respond like everyone else did—flattered, intrigued, maybe even a little starstruck.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, voice smooth, carrying that undercurrent of cocky charm.

“And you must be Sidney Crosby,” you replied, your tone natural, giving nothing away.

His smile widened. “I guess that makes us the center of attention, eh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself, babe. I’m here for the free drinks.”

Sidney chuckled, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. You weren’t playing along, weren’t biting the bait he dangled so casually. “You’re not a hockey fan, I take it?”

“I’m a fan of a good game,” you replied, tilting your head slightly. “But I’m not here to feed anyone’s ego.”

Sidney’s smirk faltered for a second before he recovered. “That’s refreshing,” he said, leaning in slightly. “Most people in this room can’t get enough of it.”

You met his gaze head-on, unbothered by how close he was now. “Maybe they’re just better at pretending than I am.”

Sidney's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of irritation creeping in. “So, what are you pretending to do here then?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “Charity. Same as you, I’m guessing.”

“Except people actually want to see me here,” he shot back, his voice taking on a sharper edge.

“And I’m sure that helps you sleep at night,” you replied, not missing a beat.

There was a brief silence, charged with the tension of your verbal back and forth. Sidney was used to winning, on and off the ice, but this was a different kind of game, one where his usual moves didn’t seem to land the way he expected.

Finally he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded you with a new level of interest. “I gotta say, this night just got a hell of a lot more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he said leaning in. “I don’t meet many people who aren’t impressed by me.”

“Maybe you should meet more people,” you suggested.

Sidney smirked, recognizing the game you were playing. “Maybe. But most of them aren’t as interesting as you.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you said, keeping your expression unchanged.

“Who said I was trying to go anywhere?” he shot back, his smirk widening.

A beat of silence settled once more, this time it was thick with tension. Sidney was used to women being drawn to him, used to his charm working like a well-oiled machine. But you weren’t giving him anything, and that only made him more determined.

“So if you’re not a fan of hockey, what are you a fan of?” he asked, trying a different approach.

“I never said I wasn’t a fan of hockey,” you replied, your tone still calm, still controlled. “I just said I’m not a fan of yours.”

The words hung in the air between them, shark and unexpected. Sidney blinked, taken aback for a split second before he could regain his composure.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to work on changing that,” he said, his voice low, almost daring.

“Good luck,” you said, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “You’ll need it.”

———

Later that evening, after the event had wound down and most of the crowd had thinned out, Sidney found himself in the hotel bar. He wasn’t quite ready to call it a night, his mind still buzzing with the thrill of the evening. There was something about you—something that got under his skin in a way that he wasn’t used to.

He wasn’t surprised to see you there as well, sitting alone at the bar, a half empty glass of whiskey in front of you. He slid onto the stool beside you without an invitation.

“You don’t strike me as the type to drink alone,” he said, signaling the bartender for his own drink.

You barely glanced at him. “Maybe I’m not alone.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing around. “Doesn’t seem like anyone else is here.”

You gave a small smile. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Sidney took a sip of his drink, studying you. There was something about you, something that intrigued him beyond just surface-level attraction. Maybe it was the way you held yourself, or the way you seemed immune to the usual charm he used so effortlessly.

“So, what’s your deal?” he asked, leaning back slightly.

You sighed, swirling the liquid in your glass. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

There was a pause, the weight of your words hanging between you. Sidney didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to bridge the gap that seemed to open between you.

“Look,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less cocky than before. “I’m not here to mess with you. I just-”

You cut him off, your tone laced with sarcasm. “Wanted to see if you could score off the ice too?”

Sidney opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it again, realizing there was no easy way to explain himself. “Maybe,” he admitted after a moment. “But not like that.”

Your expression softened slightly, though you tried to keep your guard up. “You’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?”

He didn’t deny it, “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy.”

“Maybe you could try harder then,” you suggested, your voice tinged with challenge.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You smirked, finally allowing him the satisfaction of a small smile. “So I’ve heard.”

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the tensions between you shifted into something else—something warmer, Sidney found himself leaning in, drawn to you in a way he hadn’t expected. But just as he was about to close the distance, you pulled back, placing a hand on his chest to stop him.

“I’m not looking for anything more than tonight,” you said firmly, your gaze steady on his.

He nodded, slowly, understanding what you were saying, but not entirely sure he could accept it. “Neither am I,” he lied.

You saw through it, but didn’t call him out on it. Instead, you leaned in, brushing your lips slightly against his in a kiss that was more a test than a promise. You smiled, a real smile this time, and it was like a punch to his gut. “Good. Then let’s keep it simple.”

He reached out to push a strand from your face, his fingers lingering longer than they should have, “Simple’s good.

You pulled away, your gaze never leaving his as you brushed your hair over your shoulder. “Then let’s get out of here.”

———

The atmosphere in the elevator was thick with tension, the kind that had been building since the moment your eyes first mentioned. You guys had barely made it inside before the doors slid shut, and the confined space only seems to amplify the electricity between you. The second the doors closed, all acts were dropped.

His hands were on you before you could even take a breath, his strong fingers gripping your waist, pulling you against him. You responded immediately, your hand sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, before wrapping around his neck to pull him down to your level. Your lips crashed together in a heated kiss, all teeth and tongue, like you both had been holding back for far too long.

There was no gentleness in the way you both moved, only raw, unrestrained desire. Sidney’s hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His hands were rough as they slid up your thighs, hiking your dress around your waist, his fingers brushing against the lacy edge of your panties. You moaned softly against his mouth as his fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding you slick and ready. Your hips jerked involuntarily as he began to stroke you, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug deep into his clothed shoulders, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Sidney,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need as he pressed his thumb against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. The sounds coming from you were obscene, a mix of moans and whimpers that echoed off the walls of the small elevator.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” Sidney groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you come undone beneath his touch. His fingers quickened their pace, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

The elevator seemed to crawl up to his floor, each second stretching out in agonizing anticipation. Sid growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against you in a way that made your knees weak. Before you could fall over that edge, the elevator dinged, signaling the arrival on his floor. Sidney pulled his hand away leaving you panting and on the verge of begging. The smug grin on his face told you he knew what he was doing to you, and it only made you want him more.

As soon as the doors opened, Sidney pulled you out into the hallway, barely giving you time to adjust to the change before he was on you again. You stumbled down the hallway, hands fumbling with clothes as you went. You gasped as Sidney pushed you up against a wall, his mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver.

“Baby,” you breathed, your voice a mix of need and impatience as you tugged at the buttons of his shirt, trying to pull it off of him. He laughed, a dark, sinful sound that sent a thrill down your spine as he leaned back just enough to rip the shirt open himself.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, his eyes dark with desire as he reached for you again, this time hooking a hand around your thigh to hook your leg up around his waist. You didn’t bother with a response, instead letting out a soft moan as you felt the hard length of him pressing against you. Your dress was riding up, barely covering anything at this point, and he took full advantage, his hands slipping under the fabric to squeeze your ass, pulling you even closer.

“Room,” you managed to gasp, your voice strained with the effort of holding yourself together. “We need to get to the room.”

Sidney grunted in agreement, but didn’t release you. Instead, he adjusted his hold on you, practically lifting you off the ground as he continued down the hallway, his lips never leaving yours. You barely made it to the door before he was pinning you against it, his fingers digging into your hips as he rubbed against you, the friction making you both groan.

It took a moment to fumble for the keycard in his pocket, and you used the opportunity to suck on his bottom lip, earning a low, guttural sound from him that made your pulse race. Finally, he managed to get the door open, practically shoving it with his shoulder as he carried you inside.

The door slammed harshly behind you, but neither of you seemed to notice. You were too busy tearing at each other’s clothes, a frantic urgency consuming you as you both stumbled further into the room. Sid’s jacket hit the floor, followed by your dress, which he practically ripped off of you in his haste to get you naked. You weren’t far behind, your hands working feverishly to unbuckle his belt, pushing his pants down until they pooled at his feet.

You barely made it to the bed. Sidney’s hands were everywhere, exploring, gripping, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your breath caught as he lowered you onto the mattress, his body covering yours in an instant. The kisses between you were hungry, desperate, filled with a need that neither of you could contain.

“Jesus,” Sid growled, his voice thick with desire as he kissed a trail down your neck, his mouth hot against your skin. You arched into him, your nails raking down his back as you urged him on, needing more, needing him.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs wider as he settled between them, the hard length of him pressing against your core. “Now,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of urgency and need. “I need you now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the base of his cock, guiding himself to your opening. The first push was slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him as he filled you. Your breath caught in your throat, nails digging into his back as you arched beneath him, the sensation overwhelming in the best way possible.

“Fuck, Y/N” he groaned, his voice strained as he fought to maintain control. He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one hitting that perfect spot inside that made you cry out.

Your hands clutched at the sheets, your body rocking with each of his thrusts. The intensity of it, the way he moved inside of you, almost too much to bear, Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your moans echoing in the room as he drove into you, his pace relentless.

It didn’t take long before he flipped you over, your stomach pressed against the mattress as he positioned himself behind you. He gripped your hips, pulling you back onto him as he thrust forward, the new angle sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your hands flew to the headboard, gripping it tightly for support as he fucked you from behind, his movements rough and demanding.

You could feel every inch of him, the way he filled you so completely, the way his hands dug into your hips, anchoring you to him, The sound of your bodies colliding, the wet slap of skin against skin, filled the room, mingling with both of your moans and gasps. It was messy, it was intense, it was exactly what you both needed.

“Fuck you feel so good,” Sidney groaned his voice deep and raspy, as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his release, driving you both to the brink

“Oh my god I’m close,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as you felt the coil in your abdomen tighten, ready to snap. “Fuck.”

With a low growl, Sid pulled you up so that your back was flush against his chest, one his arms wrapped around you, with the other wrapped around your throat, as he continued to thrust from behind. “You take it so well,” he whispered in your ear. The new position sent you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you trembling. You cried out his name, your release coating his cock creating wet sounds as he continued to move inside of you drawing out your release. “That’s right baby,” he coaxed as your head rolled back onto his shoulder.

But he wasn’t done yet. He turned you around again, pulling you on top of him as he lay back on the bed. You straddled his hips, your hands resting on his chest as you sank down onto him, taking him in fully. The position gave you full control, and you didn’t waste it. You began to ride him, your movements slow at first, savoring the way he felt inside of you, before picking up the pace. “Good girl, holy fuck,” he breathed out.”

Sidney’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you rode him, his eyes locked on yours. The sight of you above him, head thrown back in pleasure, breasts bouncing about was almost enough to send him over the edge. He thrust up to meet you, matching your pace, the tension in his body building to an almost unbearable level.

“Y/n,” he gasped, his voice strained as he felt himself getting closer. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna—“

“Do it,” you urged, your own voice breathless as you rode him harder, pushing you both to the edge. The sound of your bodies moving together, the feel of him inside of you, was enough to tip you over again, your second orgasm hitting you with just as much force as the first. Your body clenched around him, and that was all Sidney needed.

With a low, guttural groan, Sidney came, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. He spilled into you, his hips jerking with intensity as he rode out the waves of pleasure. You continued to move above him, milking every last drop until you were both spent. bodies trembling with exhaustion.

You pulled yourself off of him, a mix of both of your juices dripped from out of you and onto his dick, causing him to throw his head back against the pillows. You collapsed together, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, both of your breath heavy as you tried to catch your breath. The room was filled with the sounds of labored breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as you lay there together, spent and satisfied. Your head rested against his chest, the rapid beating of his heart a steady rhythm beneath your ear. For a moment, you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your intense night together.

Finally, he turned his head in your direction, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light of the room. There was as softness in your gaze now, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before, and it tugged at something deep inside him. He leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against your lips, his earlier roughness replaced with something almost tender.

“Stay,” he murmured, the word slipping out before he could stop it. He wasn’t sure why he said it—he’d never been the type to ask someone to stay the night—but with you, it felt different. Like maybe this could be more than just a one-night thing.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes searching his as if you were trying to figure out what he really meant. But then you smiled, a small, almost sad smile, and shook your head no. Sidney felt a pang of disappointment, but he didn’t push. He knew better than to ask for more than what was being offered, especially when it was clear you had your reasons. So he just nodded, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before pulling you fully into his arms.

“This was supposed to be simple,” you whispered, your voice still tinged with the remnants of shared passion.

Sid chuckled softly, his hands brushing through your hair. “Simple doesn’t seem to be our style, eh?”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your gaze searching his. ”We both know this doesn’t change anything, right?”

He nodded, though there was a part of him that wasn’t entirely convinced. “Right.”

You fell asleep like that, tangled together in the sheets, your bodies warm and tired.

———

Sidney woke up to the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the curtains. He stretched, reaching out to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. His hand brushed over the cool cheeks, a strange feeling settled in his chest—a mix of confusion and something else, something he wasn’t ready to name. He could almost feel you there, the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin.

Blinking against the light, he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked around the room. It was quiet, and the space beside him was untouched, as if no one had ever been there.

For a moment, he thought maybe he’d imagined it, that night you shared was just a vivid dream. But the faint scent of your perfume still lingered in the air, and the tousled sheets were evidence enough that you had been there, at least for a while.

He sat up fully, running a hand through his hair as he tried to piece together what had happened. Everything from the night before came rushing back—the charged banter, the undeniable chemistry, the way you’d felt around him, responding to his every touch. It had been intense, passionate, and for a brief moment, it had felt like more than just a short connection. He stared mindlessly at the floor, his mind replaying every moment, every touch, every moan. The sheets still smelled like you, and the memory of your body pressed against his was still fresh in his mind.

But now you were gone, and with you, the warmth and closeness that had enveloped him during those hours together. Sidney frowned, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. You must have left early, slipping out before he’d even had a chance to wake up.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he’d never been one for long goodbyes, especially when it came to flings. It was easier to keep things casual, to let it be what it was without any lingering complications.

But this felt different. The empty space beside him was a harsh reminder that you had made the decision to leave before he even had a chance to say anything. And that stung, more than he wanted to admit. As the silence settled around him, he realized that something had shifted inside him.

For the first time in a long while, Sidney felt something beyond just the physical satisfaction that usually followed a night like this. The sex had been incredible, that much was clear. But there was a nagging emptiness, a gnawing sense that what you shared wasn’t as casual as you both wanted to believe.

Sidney swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up as he tried to shake off the strange sense of loss. He told himself it was better this way—clean, simple, no strings attached. That’s what you agreed on, after all. You were gone, and he was alone. He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as he tried to center himself. He had to get a grip—this was just another night, another woman, and life would go on as it always did.

But as he moved around the room, gathering his clothes and getting dressed, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that he wasn’t ready for it to be over. Not yet. He noticed a small piece of paper on the nightstand, folded neatly. Sid’s heart skipped a beat as he reached for it, unfolding it to reveal a short, handwritten note.

“Thanks for the night. Let’s keep it uncomplicated :) -Y/N”

Sidney stared at the note for a long moment,the words echoing in his mind. “Uncomplicated.” That’s what you wanted, what you had both agreed to. But now as he read your words, he couldn’t help but feel that things were far more complicated than either of you had anticipated. As he stood there, staring at the note, he knew you had left a mark on him, one that he couldn’t easily erase. The memory of you, of the way you had looked at him with those challenging eyes, would stay with him. Whether he liked it or not, you had gotten under his skin.

With a sigh, he tucked the note into his pocket, trying to push the thought from his mind. You were gone, and that was supposed to be the end of it. But deep down, Sidney hoped this wasn’t over. There was something between you, something that couldn’t be so easily dismissed. But he had a life to get back to, a routine that didn’t include him moping over women who left before dawn.

And as he left the room, closing the door behind him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever see you again. And if he did, what the hell he would do about it.

[totallynotpochacco]

Hi! This is abit more of a darker/triggering ask so if it makes you uncomfortable thats 100% ok and u can skip this! but i was wondering if you could write antonio (idv) comfort fic with a reader whos struggling with sh or trya recover from it Please! Have a good day/night! ♡

“The knife isn’t always the best option.”

Contains; Self harm; bullying, comfort, sensitive topics; Antonio; Naib; Norton; Alva; and Victor;

Alva's can be platonic or romantic.

Key; Anima mia=my soul

You were doing so well, but bottled up emotions shatter easily during stressful times. When your loving boyfriend realizes you’ve started again, he’s heartbroken yet nonetheless supportive.

Antonio

He would refuse to leave your side after it comes to light that you’re hurting yourself again.

He loves you a lot and losing you is out of the question.

Antonio knows exactly what to do in these situations, since I feel like he’s either gone through this before on his own or with someone else.

Antonio had you in his arms while sobbed on the floor. A discarded knife tinged red and a clear reminder of your failures.

“It’s alright, Anima mia. You’re not alone, and you’re not in trouble. I’ve got you, everything will be okay. This will pass.” He reassured you, making small circles on your back, and gently kissing your head.

His words only made you cry harder, you wanted to stop feeling guilty. You just wanted to stop letting him find you this way.

Maybe if weren’t such a disappointment you’d be able to do the simplest thing.

Antonio knew what was probably going through your head at that moment and smiled, “Do you know how proud I am of you? My love, you never fail to impress me. I look up to you in some aspects, and you give me a reason to wake up in the morning. It’s a feat very few can achieve. Let me take care of you for tonight at the very least, I’ll grab us dinner and run us a bath. How does that sound?”

You nodded and turned your head away from the blade that just seemed to taunt you. Instead opting for staring at his shirt in shame.

Naib

He keeps a close eye on you 24/7

You’re always being monitored, even if it’s extremely subtle or obvious.

You’re the main reason why he wakes up in the morning.

Naib refuses to lose you.

“Put.. Put the knife down,___” naib carefully inched towards you like you were a wounded animal. He didn’t want to startle you and make the situation worse.

The knife shook in your unsteady hands, as you fought to make a decision, but ultimately dropped it anyways. Letting it clatter to the floor.

He quickly rushed to your side after it dropped, checking for any injuries. When he didn’t find any, Naib brushed some hair out of your face, resting his forehead against yours. “You can’t keep scaring me like this. What happens if you do go through with it? You’d really leave me all alone?”

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, at least you were being honest.

Norton

He already worry’s about you, probably more than he should, so this is just adding on.

He makes sure you share a room after the first time he witnesses one of your breakdowns.

It’s not that he believes you can’t take care of yourself, he just doesn’t want you to burn yourself out.

At night he’ll always wait for you to sleep first, and he watches you fondly or sadly, depending what occurred that day.

Norton and you had a rough day. It started with shitty matches, then rude teammates, and then a small argument between yourselves.

The reminder of it made him sigh. Finally after confirming you fell asleep he’d shift to spoon you. Taking his hand to gently run up and down your arms, being mindful of the scars that he learned to love.

“If only you knew how much I need you in my life, ___. I’m not good with words, but fuck, I love you so much.” He whispered to you, placing a kiss on the back of your head.

Alva

He’s more in tune with your emotions than yourself.

He understands that things can get hard, and doesn’t let it define you.

He wants to see you flourish, he is a mentor after all.

Alva will stay up with you until you fall asleep in case you’re afraid you might do something you’ll regret.

He also doesn’t mind cleaning your wounds, of course it makes him sad, devastated really, but it’s you, and he’d do anything for you.

Romantic;

Alva kisses away your tears, as he reassures you, your loved.

He makes sure that you bathed, and washes your hair for you.

He’ll hold you at night as well, letting you hide in his chest.

“It’s alright my dear, I’ve cleaned up all the blood, you can look now.” Alva says, and you finally open your teary eyes. Seeing him bandage up the last bit of your legs.

“Next time you feel this urge, or even feel upset, come find me. My door is always open to you.” It comes out firm but gentle, like he genuinely cares. Something no one has showed in this awful place a lot.

Your about to open your mouth but he shuts it down, knowing what your about to say, “No, you are not a bother, No I don’t care how late it is, and yes I do care about you. I love you, and it pains me to see you like this.”

“Alva, I can’t do this to you what happens if-”

“Then we’ll figure it out together. You and me.”

Victor

He cried the first time you came too his door bleeding.

Wick was right there next to you both nudging at your leg as he bandaged your stomach.

He couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he could lose you either from the games or by your own hands.

It pained him deeply when he find used razor blades in your trashcan or a hidden knife under your bed.

He wrote you a letter a couple times begging you to talk to him.

Pouring his heart out to you that he needs you and loves you deeply.

On occasion Victor would knock on your door late at night wondering if he could sleep with you when his paranoia got too much.

A knock; then two more.

It was around 11pm and Victor had shown up again holding his pillow in one arm and wick in the other.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” You said lowly, since other people lived on your floor too.

He nodded and walked inside, setting wick down on the end of the bed.

“Do.. you mind if you hold me? I miss you, and I’m scared.” It was barely audible but you heard it. He could talk, sometimes, only when he felt it was necessary. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when he said this.

“Yeah, come on.” You ushered him to get into bed. Slipping in next to him and letting his head rest on your chest.

You felt his shaky and nervous fingers trace patterns over your scars. Delicately memorizing each and every one.

You didn’t mind, because you trusted him.

But deep down, it hurt you inside that you were causing him this pain. This worry.

I finally did it! I posted.

I’m hoping to post more soon

[unlikeable-female-character]

Old Man Logan x Nurse!Reader - part 2

Thanks for all the love on the previous part of this here.

This is very much an AU where no one dies - Charles and Caliban make an appearance in this one - and maybe Laura will show up at some point but as I say, not adhering to any movie timelines etc etc, just doing my own thing. And as I said in another post, Logan is probably out of character but eh...what can you do?

warning - mentions of masturbation, performing the act of masturbation (both m and f), fingering (f receiving), a bit of sweary language.

barely proof read

****

You and Logan fell into comfortable routine. You didn’t frequent the diner as much as you had because why did you need to now? You were a little sad to leave such an important place behind but with your apartment and Logan’s…. ‘What exactly is this place?’ You asked the first time he took you to the smelting plant he called home. You stood in the middle of what you supposed was the lounge and took in your surroundings. ‘I know it’s not exactly Architectural Digest but it’s safe. That’s what matters’ You looked at him and felt instantly guilty. There was sadness in his voice and expression, that maybe this was the best he had under the circumstances and what did you expect him to do. ‘Of course,’ you said quietly. You knew why he was here and you knew it wasn’t through choice.

You didn’t mind spending time here but you loved taking Logan back to yours and letting him spend a few hours in comfort, to sleep in a bed that didn’t creak each time one of you moved - or god forbid tried to fuck in it. The first time you had tried to do so the noise the bed made was so loud you both worried Charles and Caliban would hear out in the water tower. Not that stopped either of you…of course.

Not that either of them needed to hear the rhythmic squeak of Logan’s worn out bed to know exactly what you two did. It was fairly obvious, the nature of your relationship, when you suddenly appeared with Logan one day and continued to return. Caliban appreciated having someone else around that did more than just grunt at him (you chided Logan for that). He was extremely appreciative of your medical expertise. You often sat with him chatting about your work or helping him brush up on his first aid skills and sometimes just having a good old gossip. Much to Logan’s chagrin, who also refused to take part in the first aid lessons. ‘Don’t want it, don’t need it,’ was his reply. You may have stuck your tongue out at his retreating back for that one.

At first meeting you Charles was thrilled that Logan had found someone and rambled on about how he had known about you for such a long time because Logan was so LOUD without ever saying a word. The idea of Charles being able to read your thoughts was a little worrying but he assured you that he would never attempt to do so. He was, if nothing else, a gentleman and his word was his bond he told you.

Logan wasn’t so lucky. Especially if you’d had to spend any length of time away from each other. ‘The amount of self abuse is astonishing. I didn’t think it was possible to masturbate that many times a day. Almost impressive,’ he mused one day out of nowhere as you all sat at the table eating. ‘Jesus Christ…’ Caliban muttered burying his face in his hands. Logan nearly choked on his food, and went redder than you had ever seen him. By the time Logan had recovered enough to speak Charles’ mind had moved onto other matters. You just wanted to laugh but knew you shouldn’t.

Of course you teased him about it later.

‘Do you really do that?’ You asked. You were both sat on a blanket on the roof. You’d asked Logan if there was any way to get up there and after he had indeed found a way you insisted you go up and watch the sunset over the desert. ‘Just looks the same as it does down on the ground,’ you heard him mumble as he lead you around the building to one of the less dubious staircases though still in an alarming state of decay. ‘What?’ ‘Self abuse,’ you said imitating Charles and giggled Logan grumbled ‘He’s a nosy old fucker who needs to keep his mind to himself’ ‘I don’t mind.’ He looked at you. ‘Don’t mind what?’ ‘If you do…that…when I’m not here. It’s nice to know you miss me. Well…my pussy at least,’ you smirked. Logan stared at you. ‘I miss all of you,’ he insisted, then paused, ‘maybe I do miss that more…’ You pushed him and he pretended to fall back, pulling you with him so you landed on his chest with a thump. ‘Well,’ you said, playing with the buttons on his flannel, ‘my pussy misses you as well.’ Logan glanced at you from under his lashes. ‘And do you…?’ He asked leaving the sentence unfinished. You rested your head on his chest, a favoured spot, and closed your eyes. ‘Of course. Well…I have help. Doesn’t quite measure up. If you know what I mean…’ and you raised your head to waggle your eyebrows at him. ‘Oh really?’ He said, looking a little too smug for your liking. You poked his chest. ‘Pride comes before a fall, mister,’ ‘What does that mean?’ You sat up and straddled his hips, wiggling, (deliberately of course) before stilling over his now growing erection. ‘I mean for such an old guy you’ve still got lead in your pencil. But you aren’t irreplaceable,’ you sighed dramatically, then thought for a minute, ‘have you though?’ ‘What?’ ‘Got lead in it?’ Logan rubbed a weary hand across his face. ‘I thought you were a medical professional?’ ‘I am,’ you preened. ‘Then you know there isn’t a bone in there. And it’s Adamantium. Not lead’ You smiled down at him. ‘My point is…’ But Logan grabbed your hips and shifted beneath you. You let out an involuntary moan. ‘Don’t change the subject you bastard,’ you said leaning forward to kiss him. ‘It’s my favourite subject,’ Logan smiled and started to unbuckle his belt. You batted his hands away, took over and popped the button on his jeans before slowly pulling down the fly. You raised yourself up on your knees and started to yank down Logan’s jeans and boxers. His thick cock sprung free and you gave it a gentle stroke with your finger. Logan groaned. ‘Show me,’ you said ‘Huh?’ He opened his eyes and looked up at you. ‘Show me what you do when I’m not around,’ you said, continuing to place feather light touches up and down the thick shaft. ‘Seriously?’ You hummed and nodded. ‘I want to see,’ you leant forward and caught his mouth in a kiss, ‘it would be very hot indeed.’ Logan stared up at you. He couldn’t say it was the first time he’d ever had such a request but… ‘Would it?’ He asked ‘Oh yeah,’ you breathed. You sat up again and looked at him, taking in the sight before you. It was fair to say you had Logan entirely at your mercy, lying there exposed as he was. You pushed up his undershirt and gently ran your hands across his belly, the hair there soft against your fingers. You watched the muscles twitch beneath your touch. You let your fingers drift lower but not low enough. Logan shifted beneath you, his hard cock just waiting for someone’s attention.

There wasn’t much you and Logan hadn’t done. He was masterful when it came to eating you out and you thought he would happily die with his head between your thighs. Giving him an early morning wake up blow job wasn’t unusual either. For some reason Logan’s bashfulness in that moment made your heart clench. The man who thought nothing of pinning you against an alleyway wall and fucking you quick and hard while he shoved his fingers in your mouth in an attempt to muffle your screams was now nervous about showing you how he pleasured himself. You smiled down at him. ‘It’s okay, you don’t…’ Which was when he grabbed his cock and started to pump his hand along its length.

This was hotter than you had ever imagined it could be. Logan lying there on that rooftop, his cock in his hand, shamelessly moaning as he continued to stroke himself. You felt yourself clenching around nothing and knew that you would be taking him to bed and you didn’t care how much it fucking squeaked.

‘Are you close?’ You asked. You watched him watching himself and thought you might explode. ‘Yeah…’ he said. Or rather groaned. The word itself was only vaguely formed. His hand never stopped moving. His grip was firm but not too firm, a continual movement from tip to base, occasionally stopping to collect some of the pre cum from the tip to help his hand on its way. ‘Is this what you do when I’m not here?’ You asked Logan didn’t reply as such but just moaned out something you took to be a word of assent. He locked eyes with you then and kept eye contact with you as he groaned even louder and came in spurts across his stomach. You watched the come splatter over him and you let out a small moan. You couldn’t help notice Logan’s smile. ‘Liked that huh?’ He asked. ‘That was…oof,’ you sat back on your heels, Logan’s legs still underneath you, ‘that might have been the best thing I’ve ever seen’ Logan flopped back onto the blanket and he laughed. ‘God, sweetheart, what are you doing to me?’ ‘What do you mean?’ Logan just looked at you. He couldn’t put it into words. Since meeting you something inside him had shifted. He felt hopeful for the first time in so many years. Like there was actually something worth living for. You made the grime and dirt and hurt and pain disappear, even for a moment. And he loved you for that.

As Logan tucked himself back in his underwear and jeans you noted his smile. ‘Happy?’ You asked. ‘Very,’ he replied before surging up and placing you deftly in your back. You looked up at him as he looked over you. ‘And now it’s your turn,’ he grinned. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Fairs fair sweetheart. I gave you a show. Now it’s my turn.’

Your breath hitched as he ran his hand between your legs. You were very wet but he couldn’t feel that through the leggings you were wearing. You moved your hips a little to press into his hand and began to roll your leggings and underwear down. Logan helped to pull them further down your legs until they rested bunched at your ankles. You stared at him as you let your knees fall slowly to each side, exposing yourself to him and the cool desert night. You saw his Adams apple move noticeably as he swallowed hard. ‘This what you had in mind?’ You asked as you ran two fingers through the slick that was gathering and then slowly circled your clit. Logan stared down at your hand and nodded.

You touched yourself slowly, small circles, longer stokes, your hips beginning to move a little, small raises up as you moved your fingers. You let out small moans as your arousal grew and you felt yourself moving further towards the edge. At one point your other hand moved up to your breast and you could feel the nipple pebbling be rather the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You watched Logan, his eyes taking in every inch of the show you were putting on. You felt his hand move up your side and under your shirt, taking your other breast in his large hand, stroking and squeezing at it. ‘Logan…’ you breathed. ‘Yeah darlin’?’ ‘Touch me,’ He grinned. ‘I am touching you baby,’ ‘No,’ you squeaked,’ inside.’ To demonstrate you moved your hand down towards your hole and pushed two fingers through fingers inside. ‘A little help?’ Logan smiled again and moved to replace your fingers with his own. You went back to your clit as two of Logan’s long, thick fingers worked their magic inside. ‘This…’ you stopped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, ‘this is why I need a little helper..at home…no one can touch me like you can Logan,’ and your back arched as your breath started to come in quicker gasps. Your hand and Logan’s moved in unison, the slick noises of your arousal the other thing you could hear until ‘Oh god..I’m coming…Logan…I’m…..’ Logan stilled his hand as he felt you clenching around his fingers, the pretty sounds you made, that you felt no shame in making filling the air.

As you came back down to earth, he helped you put your clothes to rights and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping you so tightly to him. He kissed you slowly and deeply and you thought how odd it was that an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere felt like home and safely and love.

‘We should go back inside,’ Logan said eventually. The night was starting to turn chilled and you realised that you had forgotten all about the sunset. Oh well, you supposed there were other nights. You’d just have to try not to become distracted next time…

[dock57]

[Shout out to Havoc for asking this question, because I never stop thinking about it since. Ever since Us & Them, at the end when Beebs stopped Us from apologizing, rubbing his neck going on to say "I've been there once or twice," has always got me wondering if or who Beebs may have lost in his life? This is the first time we get an indication that there is something that Beebs perhaps feels guilty for or regrets? Something that troubles his past. I think in a server we all discussed who could it be that Beebs may have lost?

I remember once thinking of a past lover, since it was also once asked if either Shrike or Beebs have been in a relationship. From this question I came across:

As always, the answers are vague (or unhinged and I love that) but it leaves you to wonder if this the one that Beebs may have lost? By episode three, so far we are not given much information of who that person might be that Beebs' has lost. Then again, perhaps it could mean something entirely different?

Then we have episode four, Plague Walkers. Episode four has given us an introduction, or revealing of Beebs' past. We gotten some bits and pieces to Shrike's lore, being possibly the last of his kind and being an ex LAW official enforcer. Beeb's lore has been a slow develop, and that's not something I have any issue with. I'm actually happy that the show is taking its time with pacing as that's something I miss from shows of today. So in episode four, we finally get a hint of where Beebs' come from. From the reactions, expressions, and how Beebs response to being with Ajax really shows how effected Beebs is by his past.

Something that comes up often between Ajax and Beebs' interactions is the mentioning of Beebs' parents. Now another suggested person that may have been lost to Beebs could have been his father. Before EP 4, I also thought that perhaps his father was the one he lost? I cannot remember an exact reason as to why, perhaps from the previews of EP 4 gave a suggested idea that it may have been Beebs' father when we first meet Ajax who also speaks as if "Barrack" house, his father, was once a great man- one with strong genes, of course.

But then we get to this scene, and judging from how Ajax speaks about Beeb's father here, it suggests that his father is still alive. How well? Who knows, but still alive, but perhaps not so "alive" in Beebs life.

When Ajax mentions that his father never recovered, gives me the impression that whatever happen between Beebs and his father, left not only a dent in their relationship, but also to Beeb's father as well as in he is still recovering from whatever traumatic experience that happen to the two of them. I would think it would be odd to say how he has never recovered for someone who could already be deceased. Because no one will ever recover from the dead...

So then I been thinking... What if its Beebs' mother?

I noticed that the one that tends to make Beebs' reaction the most is whenever Ajax mentions Beebs' mother. From the beginning of the episode, the mentioning of the mistakes made on the mothers side- that HIT Beebs there and center, but at the dinner as well? That comment from Ajax almost made Beebs lose his cool. I'm selecting now that Beebs' mother is the one he lost. I think Beebs had a closer bond to his mother, possibly the parent he related to more? Anything to do with his father, Beebs seems to show irritation or some form of stress when his name is mentioned. Such as when Beebs had to state which house he is from- being a Barrack- Beebs show no side of pride of having that name or being related to it. But his mother... when Ajax kept insulting his mother, that really seem to hit home for Beebs. The relationship that Beebs must have had with her... sharing perhaps how Beebs has almost like "runt" like traits to the family. The littlest one of the house. How it came from his mother side... There could be a good chance that what Beebs is holding regret for might be the lost of her, and maybe holds resentment to his father? Perhaps something that Beebs and his father got in an argument about? Or maybe an event occurred where Beebs or his father was responsible for her lost but neither of them can confront the truth?

At this point I am spit balling ideas. But until we get more lore on Beebs' past, I think his mother could have been the one he lost. Then again, this show has so far surprise me! But, its fun to try and think of theories. I'm not the best at it, but I like to wonder and analyze as well, I suppose!

Noticed I seem to ramble the most about Beebs- can you tell how much I love him? Enjoy one of my favorite screenshots of Beebs- Goodbye!]