#<- Which is why I chose not to drive straight there. Have to be up for work at 4 AM work and then drive for four hours?

[luveline]

Hotch’s little sister x Spencer, they gang up on her about her safety or health or something, and she’s like “I’m happy you’re getting along, but don’t love getting ganged up on” 😂

You thought that when things between Spencer and Aaron finally became less awkward again, things would be easier. It was never your intention to drive a wedge between them, but perhaps it’s not your fault. 

After all, Spencer’s the one who chose to date his boss’s younger sister. That was his idea. 

Of course, you ate up his flirting and agreed to all your dates, but still. Spencer’s fault for sure. So why are you in trouble? 

“Honey, I’m honestly a little surprised with you.” Aaron takes a deep breath. “It was a completely unnecessary course of action.” 

Surprised with you is more apt than he realises. “Wait a second, what?” You’d known you were in for a scolding from his weird text, but you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

“You went for a walk in the city alone at midnight?” Aaron frowns. “Have you learned nothing from me?” 

“How do you know I went for a walk?” 

Aaron raises his eyebrows. You look out of the window of his office and straight into the guilty face of your boyfriend. He has the decency not to look away, at least. “Spencer told you that?” 

“He did.” 

You meet the big, soft, beautiful brown eyes of your lovely boyfriend and quirk a finger at him for him to join you in the office. 

“Don’t start, honey.” 

“Aaron, I’m allowed to go for a walk.” 

“In the city? In the middle of the night?” Aaron gives you another unimpressed eyebrow raise. You glare at him, not fond of being questioned. 

“I had my phone.” 

He pinches his brow. 

“Aaron, what’s up with you? I’m well within my rights to go for a walk. I wanted to clear my head. I didn’t go down any side alleys.” 

“You realise you’re being defensive with me because you know it was a silly thing to do.” 

You bristle. The door opens and honestly seeing Spencer’s little frown makes you more annoyed than you had been. “Spencer, why would you tell him my business?” 

“It came up in conversation?” he tries. 

“Spencer.” 

“I was concerned! You can’t just walk around at night in the city by yourself! Who knows what could’ve happened to you, and Hotch agrees with me, it’s too dangerous…” He bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to tattle, and I don’t want to tell you what you can or can’t do.” 

“But I can,” Aaron says. “We all know you’re aware of the danger you put yourself in. Please, don’t do it again.” 

“I feel like I just went back in time a hundred years,” you say. 

“It’s an antiquated attitude, but it’s, you know, grounded firmly in reality,” Spencer says, and you’re surprised to find he isn’t shying away from you now. “It’s reckless. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“It would destroy me,” Aaron says without preamble. “Honey. Please, you can’t do that again, especially without telling someone where you’re going. What if somebody hurt you?” 

You pause to digest what he’s saying. He’d profiled you correctly before —you’re defensive because you already knew you were taking a risk, and you knew if he found out this is how he would react. You hadn’t suspected Spencer would rat you out, but it’s not like he’d been very happy when he learned about it for the first time either. 

“Is this how it’s going to be?” you ask. “You’re going to gang up on me whenever I do something stupid.” 

Aaron’s smile is forgiving and a little bit sorry, too, “I didn’t say stupid, did I?” 

“Reckless,” Spencer supplies. 

“Well. At least you’re both getting along again.” 

“That’s yet to be seen,” Aaron says quickly. 

You wave a hand at Aaron in the universal sign for shut up and turn your full attention to Spencer where he’s laughing in the doorway. You push him out by the chest, not bothering to wait for the office door to close before you start in on him. “That was confidential information, Spencer Reid, which you were privy to as a boyfriend, and not my brother's colleague and conspirator.” 

“I’m sorry.” He smiles, and he’s sincere. “I just knew you’d listen to him.” 

Ugh. Stupid profilers. “Sure, I’ve listened. Now I’m extremely upset and in need of lunch.” 

“Where do you wanna go? I’ll buy,” Spencer says immediately. 

That’s more like it. 

[anantaru]

I HATE EVERYONE BUT YOU

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — scaramouche has always been yours, yet he needs you to know that you'll always be his no matter what— even when you get all flustered while he shows you.

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — in scaramouche we what?

— ꒰ wordcount ꒱ — 1.7k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, jealous! reader, dom scara, rough sex but very passionate, scara hates everyone but you, slightly possessive scara, spitting, cumming inside of you

"you have nothing to worry about,"

"stop thinking about it and look at me," fingers gracefully trace on your bare skin, "because i need you to realize," drawing all sorts of shapes into your searing flesh, like subtle curves into your ribs, "that you'll never get rid of me," and lines dragging across your stomach when scaramouche's hand ultimately settles on your hips.

your stomach does flips at his words, and a fresh tide of relief cuts through your initial doubts. he grins and clicks his tongue, eyes dancing with amusement when he catches your shyness, "hm? what's up with you? where's this pretty voice of yours now?" and that smile, ugh, he cannot help himself but irritate you abundantly, especially when he knows how you'd react to his words.

"shut up," you hiss, "don't do that,"

"do what?" he cocks a brow, "—that?" he breathes, boldly as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles. the fire in his eyes was hard to miss and when he feels your body react to his loving trace, he's more than happy to indulge in those waves of lust— most notably show you that he'll never go away.

"fuck—" you whine, "you're mean," and you find out that his thoroughly chosen words would end up adding fuel to the looming wildfire burning between you both, the two of you high on the tension and rush smoldering the air.

and scaramouche's confessions were driving you into a spiral.

"careful there," he coos, "take it slow," for him, there was no competition, and even if there was a competition, you're not in it. you're above everything. you're perfect, no one could ever set his heart ablaze like you did.

scaramouche hums, "you're stuck with me." he candidly bites down on your bottom lip, "okay?" when you nod vigorously at him, your hips leaving the bed as your back arches into his digits, your hands finding immediate comfort in his hair as you tug softly at his roots to press his lips on yours.

scaramouche was pretty when he looked at you like that, kissed you like he needed you to survive— dreamily while flushed, his cheeks seething with scarlet redness when he inhales deeply for a moment.

but he's not used to all of this, and he didn't like the fact that you could become jealous sometimes— after all, humans suffer more in imagination rather than in reality, and you have nothing to worry about, scaramouche certainly thought he made that very much clear.

but he's embarrassed, although not because of the fact that he might've gotten too close to someone who wasn't you and experienced regret, which, in fact, wasn't possible.

he simply cannot stand anybody besides you.

truth be told, he's a little annoyed that you forgot about the fact that he wasn't a big talker per se, he even actively chose his schedule so he wouldn't see a lot of people, or anyone for that matter. scaramouche never sought out to make any meaningful friendships with the people of the akademiya as well— despite the god of wisdom helplessly attempting to push him out of his comfort zone.

with that out of the way, the real reason as to why scaramouche was embarrassed was quite silly, because it's due to what your jealousy did to him— fuck, he finds it beyond attractive, yet he refuses to acknowledge that a special heat conquered his chest like that, reaching his groin until he couldn't think straight.

there's a delicate challenge in your ways of reacting when he tells you that you mustn't be jealous, and scaramouche drinks it like water— he knows you're everything he's ever wished for, like ice cream on a hot summer day, you're melting his heart.

he nuzzles into your skin to inhale your scent, leaves soft kisses on your cheekbones while holding your jaw, making you look directly at him.

does he need to show you that he's utterly addicted to you? so, do you require it like a challenge of sorts? because archons, he'll do it, easy work easy done.

to note, it's not scaramouche's fault that people want to talk to him and are curious about the new addition to the akademiya— yet he doesn't like them, it's pestering when they get too close to him as well, ask if he could talk a little more about where he was coming from because they wanted to be nice, civil but end up making him scoff with a roll of his eyes.

enjoying his own company was fine to scaramouche— and he always found himself fantasizing about you all the time, particularly about your soft laughs and candid smiles, your voice, your stories and your understanding was like a sweet melody to the wanderer, and he could indulge in it during his breaks, before he needed to finish a mission, or he could imagine it every single night before he'd fall asleep to the thought of you.

your body was rubbing against his now, sweat colliding as he removes his fingers from your cunt and wraps them around his erection, pretty dark lashes accentuating his flaring cheekbones while you loop your arms around him— parting your legs a little so he could easily slide himself in.

scaramouche gently adds pressure on your tight hole before moving his hips, but it's slow— gentle and delicate that you can feel every crevice of his length in you.

a soft moan rips from his throat as you mold around him easily, feeling him attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of your walls as your hips twitch at the slight sting deep in your abdomen.

scaramouche was as desperate as ever to show you his love through physical attention— and the word shame didn't seem to find a place in his phraseology when he forces your gaze back under his. "open and stick your tongue out," he taps, once twice, against your lips with his thumb, "wanna taste me, right? so do it now," while keeping his throbbing dick buried inside as he purposefully moves his hips a little to make you squeal.

you cannot help the way your lips curve into a smile before you're parting your lips, applauding his efforts to claim you. it's merciless when he bundles the saliva budding in his mouth before spitting on your tongue, his crystalline eyes open to catch your tremble— how can he not indulge in this? you're nothing short of perfect, pleading for him to give you more.

"show me," he commands further, groaning deep into his chest when he looks at his saliva melting with your own and how it's dribbling from your chin, his length twitching rapidly as you try to steady your breathing at the sinful scenario you're living through.

scaramouche's hands clench at your waist as he fucks you as passionate as he can, his cock pressing against the overstimulated bud in your pussy before starting slow circles with his hips, your mouth huffing out candid i love you's amidst your moans.

inch by inch he slides into you, in and out in rapid movements, the more you take the better it felt having him rub your pleasure spots he so desperately desired to feel suck on his shaft and milk the cum out of his cock. he finds it cute when your face suddenly scrunches up if he moves faster than previous, your jaw parting in awe at how much better it felt the more he upped his tempo to batter your sore pussy.

it feels good— it always does, and if being a little jealous here and there would always result in this, than you'd gladly play your part as much as he needed it. it's almost like you don't hear yourself moaning and spell out honeyed praises, too occupied to indulge on the way scaramouche rolled along your walls and the noises of his balls colliding on your skin over and over.

"fuck— you're gonna make me cum fast," scaramouche gasps, dragging his sensitive cock through you like you're made for him, as if it just fits and he doesn't need to prep you, which he in fact, really enjoyed doing as well.

frankly, nothing tasted as good as your pussy rubbing across his mouth.

one hand leaves your hips before he gives your clit a little attention, pressing through the curtains that protected your sensitive pearl as he rubs your slick over the sensitivity, smirking devilishly when you arch your back off the mattress and begin to shake, your walls spasming while being so perfect when milking his cock, your pussy dripping with slick as he toys with your clit.

you cry out a sound between a broken sob and sharp moan of his name and that's when scaramouche knows you're close too— swift when he drags his hand from your clit to intertwine his digits with your own as he fucked you into the bed, your pussy pulsing around him as your eyes scrunch shut when you reach your high, falling slack against the bed and whining out shortly when he warms you with the weight of his body.

"fuck— shit!," his hips faster, his breath quicker, "you're fuckin mine, mine, mine," scaramouche falls apart,  panting against your ear and groaning lowly, his erection pulsing while constricted by your walls as he holds his cock deeply buried in you before thrusting back and forth once, twice, three more times as he spills his load into your pussy— his warm seed setting your belly on fire by how perfect it felt to be claimed in such lewd, passionate way.

"fuck," he breathes, "gonna stay like that for a bit,"

archons, it's so sticky— borderline filthy and shameless with every intention of it being like that. your tits were still bouncing up and down from the following, last thrusts of him pumping his precious cum into your hole and making sure not a single drop gets lost midway.

after a while of collecting your breathing and turning it evenly again, you giggle out, finding his darkened hair strands as you greet him with a wet, sloppy kiss, "wanna join me for a shower later?" you mumble, eyes half-lidded as he hums softly into your lips, "mhm, or i'll decline so you'll get mad at me, right?"

"i will bite you," you threaten, shaking slightly as he pulls himself out without warning to expose his drenched cock being weaved with your slick, the filthy mixture dripping along your inner thighs,

"please do, "i'm counting on it," scaramouche ends with a wink.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗥 𝗘𝗔𝗧

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N participates in the TRUTH OR EAT video from behind the camera.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, from @mxqdii

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N and the triplets were in Matt's car, Chris and Nick sitting in the back seat while the only girl there sat next to her boyfriend in the passenger seat. The camera used to record the videos on the Sturniolo Triplets channel was positioned in its usual place as it stared back at Y/N.

The car had just entered the Taco Bell drive thru line when Matt reached over and clicked the button to start recording, his right hand going straight for his girlfriend's left thigh while his left handled the steering wheel, stepping on the accelerator carefully until the four's turn arrived.

When the car stopped next to the order window, Y/N stretched a little to her left, getting closer to Matt so that the attendant could hear her clearly, starting to list the order, having previously asked for the boys what they wanted to eat.

Matt gave her a quick look of gratitude, which the girl responded with a sincere smile, knowing that he wasn't feeling up to talking to a stranger that day.

It didn't take long for the order to come out and a few minutes later the four were home again, Nick organizing the tripod that would hold the camera facing the kitchen counter while Matt and Chris sat in their respective places, Chris holding the box with the order.

Y/N chose to sit behind the camera on a pink bean bag chair that she retrieved from her shared room with Matt, sitting comfortably with a tray on her lap, where her order was still unopened, opting to wait for the boys to start eating for her to do it too, this being a custom created by them.

Soon, Nick clicked the record button, and the video intro began. Y/N watched them with a small smile on her face, her hands free having chosen to put her phone away to give her full attention to the triplets' work that day, just as she did every time she participated in some way.

"Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?" Chris asked the first question, his left hand holding the half-open black notebook as his face was turned towards Matt and Nick.

Matt finished swallowing what he had in his mouth, his right hand raised holding the taco in the air.

"Yes." He responded quickly, shrugging. His blue eyes quickly glanced at Y/N, who was trying not to laugh, already knowing the story.

"Teacher's pet." Y/N hummed, Nick's head turning to her quickly, a big smile growing on his face before he joined her on the singing. "If I'm so special, why am I a secret?" They sang together while dancing with their hands, laughing loudly.

Matt brought the taco back to his mouth, taking a bite, ignoring his girlfriend and brother before smiling with his mouth full as he heard his brothers yelling at him to wait.

"Really? Does Y/N know about this?" Chris asked with a smirk, looking sideways at the girl, receiving a nod from both sides.

"Yes, and I don't judge, I also had a crush on a teacher." She said, taking a bite of her own taco.

"Tell me more about that." Nick asked, his eyes going from Matt to Y/N repeatedly.

"You don't want to know." Matt replied with his mouth full, earning chuckles from the two beside him. Nick looked at Y/N, waiting for her to tell Matt's story or her own, despite her not being in the game.

"Don't look at me." She said, raising her arms in surrender, showing to him that she wouldn't say anything.

Nick and Chris rolled their eyes at the lack of information, the older one making a mental note to ask Y/N about it later before clicking on his phone screen, making the countdown start again.

"What's your guilty pleasure song, and when was the last time you listened to it and got into the groove?" Nick asked after telling Matt to finish chewing his last bite, positioning the open notebook with the covers up and holding the neon green highlighter in his right hand, an eager smile on his face.

Y/N let out a laugh muffled by her hand, already knowing what the answer would be since it was technically her fault.

"Hmm... I'll have to check the exact one on my phone." Matt said, taking his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it, opening his music app.

"Is there more than one?" Chris asked in a curious tone.

"Maybe. Actually, I don't have a song that I'm exactly embarrassed to listen to, but I do have songs that I prefer to listen to alone or with Y/N." Matt replied, pressing his lips into a thin line trying to contain his smile as he opened the playlist shared with his girlfriend, thanking himself internally for using a privacy film, preventing Nick from seeing the name of the playlist and the songs there.

Matt rolled his thumb across his phone's screen, stopping at a specific song before pressing play, the angelic opening melody of Only Angel by Harry Styles starting to play, Nick and Chris having to lean in and almost cling to Matt to be able to see the name of the music and it's artist.

"Harry Styles?" The oldest asked in a surprised tone, widening his eyes and looking at Y/N, who was smiling big while following the female voice from the beginning and making gestures with her hands as if she was holding an invisible guitar.

Nick quickly paused the song before it went over the allowed time and got copyright on the video.

"She's a devil in between the sheets." Y/N hummed again as she crumpled the paper that previously wrapped her taco, having finished it, receiving disgusted looks from Chris and Nick while Matt smirked.

"It's her fault and her obsession with Harry Styles." Matt said, shrugging as he locked his phone and put it back in his pocket.

"So Harry Styles is your guilty pleasure, huh?" Chris joked, smirking and raising his eyebrows.

"Don't be weird." Matt pushed his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

"This song is great, don't even start." Y/N argued from behind the camera, huffing.

Chris scoffed and waved his hand as if it wasn't all that, taking the notebook back as Nick clicked the button for the time to start counting again, Matt going back to eating his taco.

"Time's up!" Nick spoke loudly when the countdown hit 0, clicking on his phone screen and watching Matt put the last piece of his second taco on the table, finishing swallowing what he had in his mouth and looking at Chris.

"What are the first three things that you look for in a significant other?" Chris asked as he looked at the open notebook, before underlining the question asked and closing it.

Matt looked past the camera, his eyes meeting Y/N's as a smile spread across his face. He knew all three by heart, hell he knew all three, ten, twenty and all the things he looked for in a significant other, because Y/N had them all.

He learned and discovered everything he wanted in someone he loved with her, after all the girl was and is his first girlfriend and they would already complete four years together. The two grew out of adolescence together and learned important things about themselves together as well.

"First, that she knows how to communicate." Matt began, holding up the index finger of his right hand. "Communication is very important in a relationship, and I had to learn this along with her. As you already know, I have anxiety and this has hold me back many times in my life from saying what I was feeling or what I wanted, generating a greater discomfort in me and future fights. When Y/N and I started dating we were 16 years old, we were still new to everything and as the days and months of dating went by we learned together that the ideal was: we felt uncomfortable about anything? Call your partner and tell them right away, to try to fix that or improve the situation in some way, because we saw that when we kept it inside, it always generated fights in the future. So communication is the key and the first thing."

"They grow up so fast." Nick sniffled playfully, pretending to wipe away an invisible tear.

"That was such a beautiful answer, Matt." Chris said while clapping his hands with an exaggerated expression of pride, leaning over Matt and hugging him from the side. Matt rolled his eyes at the two, a smile spreading across his face as he patted Chris on the back.

Y/N let out a laugh with the brothers, shouting in encouragement to her boyfriend, who let out a low laugh, lowering his head in embarrassment.

"Can I continue?" He asked, covering his face with his hands to hide his flushed cheeks, speaking again when he saw his brothers fall silent and gesture for him to keep going. "The second one isn't as serious as the first, but if she can rock on a man's polo shirt." Matt said, raising the middle finger of his right hand, making a total of two raised.

"Like, wear a man's polo shirt and look cool with it on?" Nick asked, turning to face Matt, who nodded.

"Y/N can wear anything and look good, it's no wonder she goes to college to become a fashion designer and is a fashion influencer on Instagram and Tiktok." Chris commented, passing the black notebook and green highlighter to Nick. Matt nodded as he pointed his hand at Chris with an "exactly" look.

"And she always takes my clothes from my side of the closet and uses them in the outfits she puts together and it always looks really good." Matt added like a pround boyfriend.

Y/N smiled behind the camera, she loved it when the boys spoke highly of her clothes, creating her outfits every day was her biggest hobby.

"And the last one I think is just goals and aspirations of her own. Y/N was always a very dreamy girl and thought about what she wanted to be in life since I met her when we were 14, and not only that, but she went after what she wanted and and always reached them." Matt finished, raising his ring finger before lowering all three fingers he had up.

"Matt, you're so..." Chris began, trying to complete the sentence but getting lost in the good words he could use. "I loved hearing your answers. They were really good." He finally finished with a big smile on his face, his voice getting high pitched with the happiness used when expressing himself.

"Yeah, your relationship is an example of a good relationship. It's very beautiful to see how much you've evolved together, it's no wonder that you're going to complete four years together." Nick commented, a look of pride spreading across his face as he opened his notebook to look for the first question he would ask Chris.

Matt looked at Y/N beyond the camera, a goofy smile appearing on his face at the sight of her lovey dovey gaze.

"I love you." She spoke voiceless, blowing a kiss in the air that Matt pretended to catch and put in the pocket of his hoodie.

"I love you more." He replied voicelessly as well, before finishing his taco and switching places with Chris.

Y/N's heart warmed as she rethought Matt's answers, a feeling of pride spreading through her body. She loved him so much and had so much appreciation for the relationship they had built together. She hoped that they could always grow more and try to be better people every day together, too.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"I lived to see Matt listening to Harry Styles."

"Harry being Matt's guilty pleasure, I get you, Matt."

"The communication part is so real and so important to say!!"

"Matt seems like a super thoughtful boyfriend 🥺"

"omg, 4 years together, that's so cool 😫."

"I love Matt and Y/N together so much!!"

"Y/N and Nick singing Teacher's Pet together 😭"

"I adore Y/N's friendship with Chris and Nick!!"

"Petition for Y/N to do a GRWM just with Matt's clothes ✏️📄"

[f1goat]

more than friends + lando norris x part two

In which your best friend wants to help you so you get more sexual experience, but he discovers quickly that he never wants to share you and your new sexual experience with others.

masterlist - playlist

warnings: smut with a plot or a plot with smut? :) minors dni! i never proofread so probably grammar or spelling errors

requested: yes, based on: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things (ofc pretending for it to bot mean anything), while he’s actually in love with her

part one

“Lan, can we keep this a secret?” 

Lando is driving the two of you to the restaurant where you’re meeting with Max. You feel a bit stressed, what if Lando already told Max what happened? Lando and Max Fertwell have been friends for ages, so it won’t surprise you if Max already knows. Lando gives you a quick look. He notices the stressful look on your face. In a try to relax you a bit he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“Of course babygirl,” Lando tells you, he gives a soft squeeze in your thigh. 

This form of contact isn’t new for you. Lando and you have always been a bit touchy, maybe a bit too much for friends even. But after this morning it feels different. Every simple touch he makes starts to remember you on the event from this morning. Everything remembers you about them and even more things turn you on right now. Fuck. 

The only thing you can smell is Lando his aftershave. It’s not a new fragrance, but now you know how it smells when he’s pressed against you… Are you ever going to manage to think straight today? Your thoughts are going everywhere except for the things that matter. 

Lando parks the car and waits for you to get out. Together you walk towards the lunch spot Max earlier chose. You try to stop thinking about everything that happened, but you can’t. Lando his body pressed up against yours, his mouth on yours and even his tongue into your mouth. How are you suppose to forget about these things? You can barely think about anything else.

“Are you okay baby?” Lando asks you. 

You don’t know what to answer. Are you okay? Is it okay to only think about your best friend in a sexual way? It’s probably not. 

“Yeah,” you eventually say to Lando. 

Lando puts his arm around your shoulder while walking next to you. “You look a bit flustered,” he tells you with a soft voice. You feel your cheeks heating up only more. “It’s kinda cute,” Lando adds. Your cheeks are burning now. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that you have reached the lunch restaurant, maybe it’s not. Max is already sending you weird looks. Maybe it’s because Lando his arm is still wrapped around you? Lando doesn’t even notice the weird looks from his friend. This will be a weird lunch. 

After ordering your lunch, you decide to get a bit of air and go to the toilet. You need to get your mind straight. You can’t even focus on what Max is saying because you’re only thinking about everything that happened between Lando and you. When you walk towards the toilets, Max is quick to start asking questions at Lando. 

“Did you finally tell her about your crush?” Max asks his friend.

Lando sends him a confused look, “No of course not.”

“Then why are you this touchy with Y/N?” Max asks confused, “and why is she looking at you all the time?”

“I don’t know,” Lando mutters, it takes a lot from him to keep this a secret from Max. 

“You did something stupid, didn’t you?” Max is quick to question his friend, “You look like you did something stupid.”

Lando sighs, “You might be right, but I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me?” 

“No,” Lando replies, “I promised Y/N.”

The lunch stayed pretty awkward. Mainly because you couldn’t find your focus again. Whenever Max told you something, you were quick to drift of to thoughts about Lando. You’re glad that you’re sitting next to Lando in his car right now. Although, it makes it even harder to think straight. His hand has found it’s way back to your thigh. Lando is slowly drawing some circles on it while driving. 

“Anything else you want to do today?” Lando asks you.

“No not really,” you reply, “I could use some sleep after yesterday night.”

Lando softly whines. You show him a confused look. 

“I have a triple header starting in two days,” Lando tells you, “and I want to spend some time with you before that.”

You blush from his words. Of course you know about his triple header, but after everything that happened today you forgot about it for a bit. Sometimes you join Lando for his races, but this time you can’t just go away for three weeks. You still have to work. Although you’re already thinking about the possibilities, maybe you can work remote? Working from home isn’t new for you and working from the track isn’t either. But three weeks is a long time.

“What do you want to do?” You ask Lando back. 

“What about a movie night?” Lando asks you. 

“It’s still in the afternoon,” you reply with a soft laugh.

“Yeah first we need to shop!” Lando exclaims excited, “For the snacks of course.”

You nod to show Lando that you agree with his idea. He shows you another excited smile.

“And then you can do a small nap,” Lando continues, “We will order some take out and then we do our movie night.”

“That sounds great Lan,” you tell him happily, “certainly the napping part.”

Lando laughs and start to drive towards the closest grocery store.

+++

Lando his hands haven’t left your body since you started to watch the movie. You’re currently watching a horror movie, you don’t even know which one. When Lando picked out the movie you were thinking about something else. Once again. About Lando and his hands to be honest. You never realized how big his hands are. And now that you have felt them on your body, you can only think about how nicely they will feel around your more private parts. Fuck. 

“Fuck,” Lando mutters after a jump scare. You chuckle. Lando pulls you closer towards him. You’re currently leaning against him. Your head is placed on his chest. He is playing with your hair while focussing on the movie. You can’t focus on it, but that doesn’t surprise you.

Lando uses his other hand to draw figures onto your thigh. It’s making you lose your mind. 

“Aren’t you scared babygirl?” Lando asks you suddenly, “Normally you’re more scared then me.”

“Hm,” you let out a soft sound before really answering, “I’m a bit distracted,” you then confess. Lando looks away from the television screen to look at you. 

“Distracted?” He asks you. You simply nod. “By what?” Lando continues to ask. 

You feel a blush creeping up onto your cheeks. Now that you have said A, you need to tell Lando the B to. And maybe the rest of the alphabet. You let out a soft sigh.

“I uh, I can’t stop thinking about this morning,” you confess, “about what we did.”

Lando is quick to pause the movie. “Do you regret it?” He asks you.

“No!” You quickly exclaim. 

“But?” Lando asks further.

“I uh,” you ramble, “I’m turned on. Have been for the whole fucking day.”

Lando shows you a genuine smile when he hears your words. He moves his hand away from your thigh. You’re quick to let out a soft whimper. You instantly miss the feeling of his hand. Lando chuckles. 

“You’re turned on?” Lando asks you. He stares at you. You nod to answer his question. “Want me to do something about that?” Lando continues to ask. You nod again, more eagerly this time. “What did I tell you baby, I need words,” Lando states while looking at you. 

“I want you to do something about it,” you confess.

Lando is quick to react to your words. He pulls you on top of him. You let out a soft gasp from his sudden movements. Lando smiles at your reaction. His hands are quick to find the hem of your pants. You’re glad that you have changed into sweatpants when you got here. You like it even better that they’re from Lando. They fit you way too lose, which gives Lando the possibility to slide his hand under them easily.

You feel his hand palming your pubic mouth. Your string is still in the way.

Lando presses a soft kiss against your neck. You let out a soft moan. How can this feel so good already? Lando chuckles again. “You’re so responsive to me,” he tells you, “and I really like that.” He presses more kisses against your neck and shoulders. 

“Have anyone ever touched you here?” Lando asks you while drawing figures over your string. You’re quick to tell Lando that no one has ever touched you there. “Good,” he replies. It’s more a whisper then a well said word, but you heard it. His finger slides under your string. He caresses your labia. You let out another moan. 

“Do you want this?” Lando asks you again. “Yes,” you reply as fast as you can manage. 

Lando moves his fingers a bit. This time he’s properly touching your clit. Slowly he flicks his finger around it. The moan you let out this time is even harder. This is what you needed. You have touched yourself before - to be fair you have masturbated a lot, but that’s nothing in comparison with Lando his hands.

“Fuck,” you mutter when Lando flicks his finger around your clit again. 

Lando moves again. He slides his fingers through your slit. You feel one of his fingers slowly coming closer to your entrance. Without any patience you wait for him to continue and to press his finger into you. Lando doesn’t. He moves further away from doing what you want. You let out a soft whine.

“Patience babygirl,” he whispers into your ear before pressing a kiss against your cheek. You turn your head around a bit more so you can kiss Lando properly. Lando is quick to react to your sudden movements. He didn’t expect you to do this, but he’s really glad about it. He feels how you open your mouth a bit, he sucks softly onto your lower lip. It causes you to moan again. Lando can safely say that it’s becoming his new favorite sound. Your moans are angelic in his ears. He wants to pull out every moan of you that you own. He wants to be the one who hears you like this and he doesn’t want to share this sound with anyone else. Ever. 

It causes him to realize how stupid he is. His feelings will come in the way. But when you buck your hips so you can feel his hand better, he’s quick to forget about those thoughts. Problems for later he thinks before continuing to spend all his attention on you. 

Lando moves his hand towards your clit again. He draws figures on it. He quickly earns a new moan from you. He moves his other hand towards your breast. He slides underneath your sweater - or better said his sweater that you’ve stolen earlier. It surprises him to find out that you’re not wearing anything underneath it.

“Fuck babygirl,” he mutters. Then he softly grabs one of your breast. In the mean time he increases the speed on his movements on your clit. You feel your stomach tighten from his movements. 

“More Lan,” you whisper.

Lando reacts to your words. He increases his speed again and uses a bit more force on your breast. He starts to knead it. You reward him with a new moan. This time it’s louder. You start to feel a bit ashamed for the sounds that are coming out of you, but you can’t help it. Lando is making you feel all kind of things.

“You’re making the prettiest sounds,” Lando tells you softly. It’s almost as if he reads your mind. “All for me,” Lando adds even softer. 

You feel how you’re getting closer to your orgasm. Familiar waves of pleasure are already washing over you, but this time harder then ever before. It’s amazing how Lando makes you feel. 

“I’m close,” you tell Lando. You feel him moving his finger towards your entrance again. He touches you around it, but his finger is still not into you. Not like you want it right now. You buck your hips again, hoping Lando will get the hint. He does, but he doesn’t react to it at first. He waits for you to say something.

When it takes him too long, he decides to ask you. He needs to know for sure that this is what you want. “Want me inside?” Lando asks you with as less words as he can. He needs your answer quick. “Yes please,” you reply. 

Lando lets his finger enter you. Slowly he moves inside of you. He feels your walls tighten around his finger. He increases his pace a bit and starts to finger fuck you slowly. In and out. You’re quick to reward him with another moan. 

“Fuck Lan,” you moan, “I’m close.”

Lando doubts for a few seconds, but then he decides to add another finger inside of you. He moves slowly at first, but is quick to increase his pace. He feels how your walls are getting even tighter around his fingers. 

You feel the waves of pleasure getting closer and closer. Just when you want to tell Lando that you’re really coming now, you feel your orgasm hitting all over you. Instead of letting out words, you let out a hard moan. Lando feels your walls clenching around his fingers. Slowly he removes them when he notices that your orgasm is over. 

When you look at Lando and think about what to say, you notice what he’s doing. He’s puts his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. Fuck. 

“Next time I want to taste you,” Lando states after removing his fingers from his mouth. 

Fuck. You’re turned on all over again. What is this man doing to you?

“Are you staying over?” Lando asks you suddenly. You show him a small smile, “Of course Lan.” Lando pulls you into a hug, “Let’s get to bed then.”

“What about the movie?” You ask surprised.

“I’m in the mood to cuddle,” Lando states, “and that’s an important part of aftercare.”

“Aftercare?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah,” Lando says, “It’s the most important part. After you’ve done something sexual, you need to make sure you’re getting your rest and that you still feel good. Emotionally and physically.”

“How do you mean?” You ask further.

“It can be anything,” Lando answers, “I always like to hug after anything sexual, but not everyone is into that. Aftercare can be as simple as cleaning you after we have fucked but it can also be talking about what we did and what you thought about it.”

“Cuddles sounds nice,” you eventually say. 

Lando smiles and is quick to take you upstairs with him. He doesn’t tell you that there are a lot of guys who aren’t bothered with something like aftercare. The most guys only do aftercare after a girl told them about it and asked for it. With the one night stands he had over the years, he wasn’t one for aftercare. He didn’t even knew what it meant before having a girlfriend. 

Lando does know that you deserve every bit of it. He also knows that he wants you to feel good. And that he really likes to cuddle with you. 

So that’s exactly what he does that night. When the both of you are trying to sleep, he is still pressed up against your body. Making you the small spoon for tonight. It doesn’t even scare him anymore that he wants this every night. He checks if you’re already sleeping, it doesn’t seem like it. Before he can thinks about what he’s going to say, the words are already leaving his mouth.

“Join me for the triple header,” he states.

“I have work Lan,” you say tiredly.

“You can work from the hotels and the race tracks,” Lando replies quickly, “please join me.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow morning.”

Lando smiles in your neck. “You’re the best,” he tells you before pressing a soft kiss against your head. “The absolute best,” he adds so soft that you can’t hear it.

thanks everyone so much for all the likes, comments & reblogs!! there are so many!!!!!! <33 let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

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part three

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Prequel - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1k+

Summary: 

Red eyes, black dragon Fuck, I think the nitrous did damage

Alternatively,

You would never think twice before picking Yoongi up from streets even if it means losing your own sanity in return.

Warnings: drinking, so much pining, none of them are doing well, yoongi is a mess in this. please proceed with caution.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

A/N: This is the prequel. hence, it goes back in time when the reader picked Yoongi up from streets.

“Yoongi, what’s up? It’s two in the morning.” Your voice is groggy from the REM sleep that just broke with the vibration of your phone. 

If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t even entertain the idea of receiving the call. But it’s Yoongi. It’s Yoongi among everyone. 

Yoongi, who never once called you beyond your working hours. Yoongi, who is having a tough time recently and there may be a chance that he called you to seek some comfort. For once you turn yourself foolish and entertain that idea. 

Even with the anticipation, your heart flutters - Yoongi really thought he could call you at this hour? He thinks you are close enough to do so? 

But your fluttering heart stops mid-chest when you hear someone else’s voice coming through the speaker. 

It’s a guy who most definitely isn’t Yoongi nor someone you know. 

“Hello, is this Y/N?” the man says. 

You sit straight on your bed. Your once fluttering heart is now dropping to your stomach in fear. 

“Yeah. I’m Y/N. But who are you? And where did you find this phone?” 

“The owner of this phone is lying unconscious in an alley in Gangnam. He is most probably drunk. I was passing by when I saw him and he doesn’t look like a junkie so I thought I might help him out. Thought of letting a friend or family know before I call the police. Your number was on the latest call list.” The man explains. 

“Thank you so much. I will go get him, just wait for five minutes. I live nearby.” you say the last few words in a hurry, grabbing your jacket and keys, you bolt out. 

The man shared their live location, so you don’t face any hustle in driving there within an exact of two minutes and fifteen seconds. 

Thankfully Yoongi chose to faint in an alley near your apartment. 

Since the road is mostly deserted you spot them almost instantly. 

Getting out of the car and throwing a quick but thankful bow to the man, you look at Yoongi. 

If your heart was broken before, it must be powdered now. 

He is lying on the ground, dark long hair all over his eyes, there is dust and mud sticking to his locks, his black jacket is full of vomit, he reeks of alcohol terribly. 

You can’t help the lone tear that escapes your eye, betraying your facade and rolls down your cheek. 

You are thankful that Yoongi is unconscious. If he saw you - you out of all people - crying for him, he would have several questions. 

You thank the man once again as he hands you Yoongi’s phone, he apologizes for unlocking the device taking the help of Yoongi’s numb face but you tell him not to. 

He even helps you in tugging Yoongi in your car. 

Lastly he shares his card, which reads Jung Hoseok, OBGYN, Hankuk University Medical College. 

“I miss you.” 

Your hands stop wiping Yoongi’s dirty face for a second. 

“Wh-why did you… why did you leave me?” He sobs in his sleep again. 

The tears you have been trying to contain all these times, now start falling unbound when you hear Yoongi sobbing. 

You know what he is talking about. The entire company knows how his life has become unstable after his break up with his long-time girlfriend. 

Streets say they were about to get engaged by the end of this year but she decided to end it all. However, nobody knows why. And nobody dared to ask. 

You were never really close to Yoongi to begin with. Nevertheless, the distant relationship never became an obstacle in your way of admiring him. 

And the admiration - you don’t know when it turned into liking him. 

But you are always contained with whatever you were offered with from his side. That was until you saw him broken and all you wanted was to pick him up piece by piece. 

And today, it seems as if you finally got your chance. 

Yoongi sobs uncontrollably in his subconscious state. He is probably having a nightmare. So you do what you think is the best idea. 

You lay down beside him, hold him in your embrace and start patting him on his back softly. 

You don’t say anything. What if your voice pierce through his ears and tells him you are not the person he is seeking? 

If this is a mirage created by his alcohol charged mind then you will pretend to be drunk too. 

Yoongi’s hand encircles around your waist, he hides his face in your chest and keeps crying and mumbling complaints. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. 

So this is what it feels like when Min Yoongi embraces you? What in the world did you do to deserve this? 

Your warmth and affectionate hands soon lull him to sleep and once he is asleep again, you place a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I’m extremely sorry. I can’t tell you how ashamed I am.” Yoongi’s eyes don’t meet yours as those words come out of his mouth. 

You try to capture the moment with your eyes and store it in the frame of your memories to cherish for a long time. The moment where Min Yoongi is sitting inside your apartment, with your favorite mug in his hands filled with the coffee you made for him, apologizing for the trouble he had made you face last night. 

Only if you could tell him that what he thinks was trouble, was heaven to you. 

The soft rays of morning sun filters through your white cotton curtain and falls on his pale puffy face. His long dark hair that you love so much, cast a shadow on his eyes. 

“It’s alright.” you reply after you are done catching your breath. 

“Did I.. did I do something weird last night?” he asks, still looking downwards. 

If you tell him he sobbed in your arms then what would he think? You don’t even want to find out. 

“Not at all.” 

“I cried, didn’t I?” he confesses. 

“Only a little.” you lie. 

“You are the first person to see adult me crying.” 

“Not even her?” the words fly out of your mouth on their own will. 

That’s when Yoongi looks up, looks at you, looks into you.

“Not even her,” he confirms. 

Next Part (Patreon)

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[crazy-only]

beating subby!lando in a grand prix !

pairings: subby!lando x fem!reader

premis: lando gets angry after losing first place to his female teammate so she lets him finish first in something else (･ω<) super smutty !

preface: thanks for all the support you guys are amazing i don’t deserve it ≧﹏≦ and please send requests and stuff, i’ll make sure to read them and write some more content based on your asks ! i’m open for any drivers. while you wait, enjoy lando being dommed <3

“yes!!!” you scream as you pass the finish line, watching happily as the crowd claps at your first-place finish.

“congrats, y/n. well done! another win for mclaren!” your manager praises through the radio.

you smile, parking the f1 car at the first place marker. “couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

hiding your tears of joy, you climbed out of the tight vehicle, removing your heavy helmet.

as you were skipping to meet your mclaren crew, though, a f1 car came flying dangerously close to your legs. you jump back, finding a fellow mclaren driver staring angrily at you from the cockpit of their car.

“not again,” you mutter under your breath, slowly walking away from the stalled vehicle as if it were a momma bear.

“hey!” lando shouts from his car, hurriedly escaping its seat and running towards you. “you can’t just overtake your teammate like that!”

you roll your eyes, trying to shove down the strong urge to choke him and shut him up. “that’s kind of how the sport works, lando.”

yet he doesn’t quit whining, and instead, snatches your hand, forcing you to look at him.

“aw, are we holding hands?” you say sarcastically with traces of venom.

lando steps closer, his height unfortunately much taller than yours. “we might need to if we’re going to be on the same team for the next few years.”

oddly enough, something in you shifted when lando said that with a straight face.

“so, should i let you finish first next time?” you ask, raising your eyebrows and brushing off the weird feeling you felt with lando so close by.

lando blinked rapidly, quickly retrieving his hand from yours. “th-that sounds wrong.”

“you perv! such a dirty mind,” you remark, trying to run away before you start to feel things for the cute annoying guy.

yet, lando leaves you no escape as he imprisons your arm into his strong grasp once again, dragging you away from the flickering cameras of the paparazzi and into his temporary racing room.

“y/n, why must you always drive like a fucking muppet and—“

you ignore lando’s complaints (mainly because they hit harder than what you let him see). even though you only knew him for two months, the boy was a good racer, and you respected that. he’s a big reason as to why you chose mclaren in the first place.

“what’s this,” you murmur while he rambles, walking towards his desk where a notepad lay.

“shit!” lando curses, quickly running to block your path. “don’t you dare,” he says, hiding the book in a hand behind his back.

you smile, sensing a challenge. “no.”

staring into his green eyes you reach a hand around his back, yet his reflexes are faster, moving the notepad to his other hand. you lean against him, his body trapped against the desk. you make fruitless attempts to steal his secretive journal until lando speaks up.

“jesus, y/n,” lando says, cheeks reddening with the close contact. “some personal space, no?”

you sigh, a bit sad, still wanting to see his secret diary or whatever that little notepad of his contained.

“ok,” you mutter, deflated.

he rakes a hand through his brown hair, a bit stressed. “like i was saying, i think it’d be much better if you,”

he continues ranting about the things you do wrong, his current subject about your excessive speeding in the last grand prix in which you placed behind him.

but you can’t focus, as that little notepad flys around in the air, lando’s passion for racing translating to his hands.

and you don’t think about it before you finally make a grab for the book. lando, a bit shocked, loses balance and falls back to his bed. he latches onto your arms in panic, forcing you to fall rather hardly onto his big body.

“ugh,” he groans, head hitting the back of the bedframe.

you smile and open the notepad while his consciousness was still weak. but you don’t find what you were looking for.

you found something much, much more shocking.

“lando, what the fuck!” you screech, still on top of his body. “why does it say right here that i almost crashed into carlos on turn three?! are you taking notes of my fucking races?”

you punch his shoulder hard, only making him groan harder.

lando, face frowning in dismay, tried to get up, but you pressed your body weight onto him.

“no, no, no, lando.” you say, tutting at his sorry excuse of running away. “you need to explain yourself.”

“fuck.” lando raises his arms and nervously fiddles with hair. “i just—i don’t know—wanted you to be safe and shit.”

you frown in confusion, flipping through the pages only to find more details of your supposedly dangerous racing style, highlighted in bold: she needs to slow down!

“shit, lando,” you say, trying to understand why he would do such a thing. “you obsessed with me?”

he sighs. “no! i’m just a good fucking teammate and want to make sure you don’t crash into me and kill me in the next race!”

you rest your head onto his chest, utterly confused. hearing his rapid heartbeats and rise and fall of his chest, you know he’s nervous.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur, tracing the curves of his flexed bicep. “i can take advice. just don’t like rude comments.”

your teammate, clad in his compression shirt and unzipped racing suit, groaned.

“god, this is so fucking embarrassing.”

you smile and look up at him, feeling like maybe lando wasn’t actually so bad after all. “you’re cute.”

lando purses his lips, pushing your shoulders away. “just get off of me already.”

you shake your head, curious to see how lando would react. “what if i want to nap,” you say, pointing at his chest, “right here?”

lando looks up at the ceiling and scrunches his eyes. “y/n, stop it.”

you hum in question, rasing your body so you could see his face better. “stop what?”

“you’re-you’re getting me fucking hard right now, y/n,” lando rasped out, his hands covering his tomato-red face.

“i knew you were a pervert,” you murmured, rasing a hand up to gently caress his face, feeling the stubble on his chin.

lando’s eyes opened, surprised to still see you on top of him after his dirty confession.

enthralled, you look between his eyes and lips, wanting to feel the passion of a man that just wanted the best for you. you’ve never had anybody this sweet before.

“lando,” you whisper, playing with his brown hair, “do you like me?”

he nodded, bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

that was all you needed before pressing your lips onto his, smiling as he let out a deep groan. he broke away, looking up into your eyes a bit sporadically and shyly.

“can i touch you?” he asked quietly, cautiously placing his hands on your waist.

unsatisfied with his pg-placement, you tugged his hands towards your ass, knowing that’s where he secretly wanted them. “are you this shy with all of your other girlfriends?”

“i-it’s just different with you,” he said, sheepishly looking down at your shirt, green eyes widening at your semi-exposed cleavage.

“lando?” you say, scoffing as he attempted to take his eyes away but simply couldn’t.

you take advantage of the moment and sit up to straddle his waist, discarding your shirt and leaving you in a sports bra.

“happy now?” you say with a curved brow.

but lando seemed to become a different person after you stripped, his hands tugging your bra off so your top half was naked.

“h-hey!”

lando moves your hands that cover your tits, an inexplicable urge in him to feel you. he latches his mouth on your nipple, causing you to shudder.

“fuck, lando,” you whisper, head bowing at the sweet sensation of his lips.

growing in confidence (and simply wanting to please you), lando started playing with your other tit with his hand, looking up at your pretty reactions.

“you’re so pretty, y/n.”

you brush lando’s hair back, kissing his forehead. “should i let you finish first this time?” you asked, smiling.

“please?” lando squeaks out cutely, watching as you take off his racing suit and bottoms.

drawing his boxers down you find his dick, way larger than expected and as hard as a rock. “fuck, lando, you’re so fucking big.”

“i know,” he chirps with a grin on his face.

you scoff, watching his conceited face turn into a concentrated one as you lick his tip, tasting his precum.

his hand clenched into your hair. “mmm, please don’t tease me, y/nnn, m’begging you.”

“what happened to that cheekiness of yours, hm?” you ask, drawing your index finger slowly up and down his dick.

“fuck,” he whimpers, hips jerking. “please, please, fuck!”

you take off the rest of your clothes along with lando’s shirt, marveling in his defined abs.

you climb over so your pussy was over his dick, teasing him by licking his nipple. you laughed as he merely whined more, eyes lidded. you pumped his cock, its desperate veins showing.

“y/nnn.”

“okay, okay, baby, need it so bad, hm?” you ask as you lower slowly onto his dick, just now remembering how big he was.

“fuck,” lando gasped, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. “feels s’good.”

you, on the other hand, were trying your best to maintain your composure, wanting him to finish first this time. he stretched you in all the right places, making you moan as you starting sensually riding him. that goal of yours seemed more and more impossible with each stroke you felt.

“shit, so tight,” lando sighs out before grabbing the small of your back and pulling you down to kiss you deeply, humming and moaning in your mouth.

you bite his bottom lip that he himself bites so often. “been wanting to do this for a while. selfish to keep them all to yourself, baby.”

lando blushed profusely. “such a flirt.” he played with your tits, making you leave breathy kisses on his neck. “must be a player.”

you shook your head, riding him harder, a bit pissed at his conviction. “dumbass,” you say in between pants, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping. “only you,” you murmur.

lando grins cheekily, pupils blown out, as he places his veiny hands on your hips, helping you slam down onto his perfect cock. “oh, yeah?”

you roll your eyes. “how. do you. still manage. to piss. me off?!”

“dunno,” he murmurs, taking his right hand and rubbing your clit, making your head fall back. lando was good, you realized—why hadn’t you done this sooner?

but you held your release in. lando needed to be first—there was no other option!

so you kissed his collarbones, finding he was particularly sensitive there, smiling as he let out breathy whines.

“such a fucking bottom,” you murmur. “even though you try to seem like a badass on the track.”

lando’s face becomes more fucked-out.

“i’ll always beat you on the track, baby; accept it.” you tug lando’s hair, getting a better view of his eyes. “want me to give you some tips, hm?”

“quit it,” lando gasps, watching as your pussy enfolded his dick rapidly.

you nudged his chin up with a finger, his green eyes so soft. “you wish.”

you kiss him gently, his cock twitching inside you as he moaned, hands grabbing your hair rather forcefully and crushing his lips on yours. almost as if he were scared you’d evaporate.

“fuck, y/n,” he moans in between kisses. “don’t deserve you.”

with a smile you break away to leave pecks on his jaw. “who knew lando was this sweet?”

“need—mmm,” he groans out. “need to cum, fuck.”

suddenly a knock sounded on the door, followed by a, “lando? you in there?”

the both of you paused your movements, staring at each other in horror.

“hey, lando, the press is waiting!”

“fuck it.”

you ride him even harder, sweat dripping down your body, and whisper while staring into his wide eyes, “think you can stay quiet?”

with that, your teammate ruts his hips into you, chasing his release with his eyes on your face. he grinned as you also unraveled from the sudden force on your cervix, pussy tightening around his already-clamped dick.

“fuck, baby,” you whine, “so strong.”

as his strokes became more sloppy, lando came down, panting hard as he watches your pussy squirt. both of you, blissed-out, rest for a bit on each others’ heaving bodies.

“so hot, fuck,” he whines, his cock already hard again.

lando was about to beg for another round when a familiar voice shouted from the outside, “lando! i can hear you! clean up—we’re running out of time!”

lando gasps as you laugh loudly. “we gave him a performance, didn’t we?”

your teammate sighs with an annoyed expression. “fucking hell. why’d he listen to us?”

fastening into your racing suits once again, you get ready to leave the room before you notice something very important on lando’s face.

you go to wipe the lipstick kiss marks you left on his pretty skin when he stopped your hand, murmuring, “this is my first place trophy.”

with grins on both of your faces, you and lando walk out of the room, hand in hand, battling the paparazzi together. every time lando looks at you, he thinks of the hickies trophies he’ll give to you next time.

[13leaguestories]

Superstition Rewrite Peeks (Ep2)

Maybe you guys are interested in this, maybe not. But I figured why not see. So, this whole thing is basically showing peeks of the rewrite. Giving a bit more insight on what's changing and blah blah blah.

The part below is where Langston calls you to tell you that they have Chris. But this is one of two possible paths now. You can either get this path or a new Captured Path which will unlock to those who chose to either visit Chris or didn't successfully help Syd with the spell. This Not-Captured Path will then open up to three different branches: Planned/Betrayal/Wing It. Basically, you get Syd on your side and she helps out. You give in and give up Syd's location. Or you wing it (this being the original path from S1).

All these new paths include different ways that will effect the fate of Chris and how Syd feels about you for a while.

"I swear if you hurt him in any-"

"Slow down, kid," he chuckles. "Don't start making promises you sure as hell can't keep. Let me get straight to it. God, I feel like Petri." I hear him mumble under his breath before continuing on. "This world is not //your// world. You should be sitting in class somewhere, trying to figure out what the hell you're gonna do with that hundred-thousand-dollar piece of paper they'll give you. Believe it or not, we want you in that world, too. There's no reason to get yourself deeper involved in all this."

"You should've thought about my involvement before you killed my uncle." There's silence on the other side before I hear what I think is a snort.

"Can't disagree with that, but if you keep going down your current path, your uncle won't be the only one who came out on the wrong side. We're giving you the chance to walk away from all of this. To go back to that mundane life. We'll even clear your name. You're on a one-way trip to being suspected of arson and murder right now." My insides rage, and my hand tightens around the phone.

"There's nothing to think about, $name. Text us your location and go for a drive. Once we get what we want, we'll send you your friend's location."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?" I ask incredulously, snorting as I shake my head. "I don't."

"Can you afford not to? Look. You either play ball with us and get out of all of this. Or you don't, and we still get what you want, but you'll have two deaths on your hands. Send me that location, $name. Do the smart thing."

"Wait!" I shout, wanting to ask more. I needed to know that Chris was okay and to get some kind of confirmation that he was even alive. But Langston hangs up, and I'm left sitting there with a heavyweight threatening to settle all of itself onto my shoulders.

[watercolorfreckles]

The Max - Part 2

Part 1

When Eloise closed the book and set it aside, her heart jumped to find Artisan staring.

She watched the super’s mind tick, his attention picking her apart to expose the soft and squishy pieces of her. High school lab pig dissection came to mind: pliable flesh carved open to be poked at and scrutinized against a cold table.

She’d cried in that class. It had felt cruel to play at scavenger, pecking and probing for a once-living thing's deep and hidden parts as if she were entitled to its most vulnerable insides.

Though she felt more like the pig at that moment, it felt invasive, too, to track the inner workings of Artisan’s terrifying brain.

Eloise couldn’t seem to look away.

Artisan sat up from his resting position on the bed, grabbing at the inhibitor cuff on her wrist. A startled sound choked in her throat, managing not to jerk back on pure prey instinct. Her arm twitched, cagey, in his hold even as the rest of her froze. 

Her bones ached as if aware of how fragile they were.

Then her arm went numb altogether, turning jellied and moldable. Her palm folded in on itself, pliable bones bending grotesque and wrong and– painless.., as Artisan slid the cool curve of metal over her fingers and tossed it away.

Her bones settled back into their original positions and Eloise snatched her hand away as sensation returned, pins and needles tickling her fingertips.

She stared, horrified.

She stared, impressed.

Artisan smiled and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “It’s an interesting story. Though Dracula is a bit simple as an antagonist, don’t you think?”

Eloise blinked. Had the past minute really happened? She glanced at the abandoned cuff on the floor. Her brain floundered to catch up.

“Um. He is singular in his goals and motives,” she managed. “He isn’t portrayed as misunderstood or sympathetic in the original text, just hungry. And spiteful. He wants food, he wants control, and he wants revenge. He is evil, not for solely being different, but for abandoning all human instinct like love and care, even though human emotions–boredom, anger, hunger–are what drive him through the story… He chooses to turn his back on his humanity, to fulfill the role of monster, even though he is capable of more. It would not be evil if he had no soul. His soul humanizes him, but the force of his will strips it away. He is a villain of his own making. I'm not sure that can be simple.”

Artisan hummed. “Do you fancy me that sort of villain?”

Eloise shook her head. Her skin still itched with the phantom touch of his power.

“Dracula wouldn't have helped me.” Her voice sounded very small in her ears. 

“Will you help me with something?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices, Eloise. Dracula chose one straight path. I can be more…” He wet his lips. “Flexible. Helps stave off the boredom. I love a good unexpected twist.”

Eloise swallowed. “You think I’m useful. Is that why you’re protecting me? Do you plan to bleed me empty until you're full? Or…to fill me with your own blood until I become what you are? Dracula didn’t turn Mina to keep her safe… He did it to damn her.”

Artisan straightened out his spine to his full seated height. “What would you like me to do with you?”

“It doesn't matter what I want when I can't stop you.”

“I'm asking.”

Eloise tensed as a shout and bang echoed too close for comfort. She snatched a fistful of the supervillain’s sleeve and scrambled instinctively closer. 

When the noise finally subsided, Eloise looked at him. He was watching, letting her cling to him like a frightened puppy. She was practically in his lap.

Eloise let go as if burned. Heat flooded her cheeks. “S-Sorry-”

Artisan was smiling, a sharp curl of lips that sent her stomach swooping. “So which is it? You think me the monster that will bleed you dry or the scary guard dog that will protect you from the rest of them?”

She eyed him, then looked at the floor. “I think you're kinder than you let on.”

Artisan snorted. “I've never been accused of that before.”

“You asked what I want… I want to live. I want out of here, away from the violence and death. I just want to stay safe. I want to take a shower and scrub the blood out of my hair.”

Artisan leaned in. “If you help me escape, I’ll keep you alive.”

Her gaze jumped to him. “Me? How do you think I can help you?”

“Your power,” he replied, the ugly fluorescents catching the blood spots on his collar, “as you so subtly demonstrated, is to blend in. Raise no alarm bells. You can walk right past the firing squad. We can walk right past the firing squad.”

Eloise was already shaking her head. “I told you, it doesn’t always work. I can’t do it reliably on command. Besides–I can’t help a deadly supervillain escape The Max! I’d get thrown straight in here for life! I’m not even a supervillain! I’m barely super!”

Artisan’s eyes glittered, lowering his voice conspiratorily “Hm. You’d rather stay here? Unprotected? Okay. Should I just call the others over, or…?”

He stood from the creaking mattress, taking two steps toward the gaping hole where the door used to be with a teasing eyebrow quirked in her direction.

Eloise leapt to her feet. She skidded on blood-slicked shoes in her panic to grab at Artisan once more. “No-! No. Please.”

Their eyes met. That time, Eloise didn’t let go of the super’s arm.

Which would be worse? Angering Artisan and letting him break her into splintering pieces? Or being thrown to a pack of super-powered wolves? Angry, restless, nothing-to-lose, wolves…

She swallowed. “Please?”

For a moment, the cell fell into a familiar quiet, terse but not particularly uncomfortable.

Artisan turned to face her properly.

“I get you to the exit. You get me past the gunfire. The cameras are down, they’ll have no idea that you helped me. The two of us will slip free with no one the wiser. When they eventually notice us gone, after killing the other idiots who dart out into open fire, they will assume we slipped through the cracks separately. Deal?”

Eloise watched him, nerves buzzing through her body. “I didn’t know you could talk so much,” she said dumbly.

To some, that would be an insult.

Artisan snorted a laugh, clearly caught off guard. “Eloise.”

“What will you do when you’re out?” she asked, more quietly.

If she helped him escape and he went on to keep hurting people, wouldn’t their blood be on her hands?

It wasn’t fair. That would be far too much responsibility to ask of a girl who’d done nothing but do her best to stay on the sidelines, not step on any toes, and serve her time as quickly as possible. She couldn’t truly be expected to sacrifice herself in the name of altruism, could she? She wasn’t a hero. She wanted to go back to being a no-one, someone without the attention of supervillains and regulators of the Powered Peoples Registry.

And yet… she didn’t want people to die because of her choices. She didn’t want any more carnage.

Belatedly, gently, Eloise let go of his arm. Artisan tracked the movement.

“When I’m out..,” he mused, voice returned to the softer, low tone he normally used in the rare moments that he decided to speak, “I will never let them catch me again.”

Eloise’s mouth felt dry. “Business as usual?”

He shrugged. “Until I’ve regrouped. Then, I’ll come back for each and every person who trapped me in this hell hole. Every hero responsible for catching me. Every trigger-happy member of that execution squad outside. And–if any are even left alive–every guard, every staff member here, who ever locked me in this room. Ever kicked my plate of food just out of reach and laughed. Each of them who mocked me and treated me like- like cattle. And every little boot-licking coward here ‘just doing their job’; ‘just here for their paycheck.’ Their excuses for torturing us won’t matter anymore when they’re all broken and bleeding in the same mangled pile, will they?”

Eloise shivered. That sounded like a very, very dire outcome, no matter how much she agreed that the something needed to change.

“And… And me?” Her voice shrank impossibly small and fragile. “I’m staff.”

She imagined herself, a crumple of slimy sinew and shattered bones, piled with the rest of them. 

She picked at the dry skin of her lips–a nervous tic kicked into overdrive–and only stopped when the supervillain pulled her hand away from her mouth where it it began to taste of copper.

Artisan studied her, his expression giving nothing away. The thumb of his free hand smeared the bead of blood away. “No.”

“No?”

“Not you.”

Eloise’s heart squeezed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to. And I do whatever I want,” he said simply. “Besides. Who will read to me when you’re gone? My right-hand’s voice doesn’t have quite the same effect. His has much more of a droning quality… If he attempts to replace you, I may need earplugs.”

Eloise’s sore lips twitched into a small smile. “If we help each other get out… What happens then? What if they come after me; after us?”

He grinned and it was a sharp thing of silver cutlery and broken glass; of moonlit, gritty alleyways. “We run.”

As a reminder, this story comes from a prompt that was given both to me and to @the-modern-typewriter! She made her series on it first and it is AMAZING! Go check it out on her patreon, it's The Supermax Prison Blues! I'm not in any way trying to copy her (though naturally, some influences might creep in from obsessing over her work!) or compare our work, as she is an absolutely magical writer, and her series is completely her own!

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate , @appleejuicee , @deflated-bouncingball @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan , @mercurymomentum , @fairysprinkles , @vuvulia , @amongtheonedaisy , @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room , @scorpio-smiles , @inkygemuwu , @wolfeyedwitch , @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo , @lem-hhn , @fanastywhump , @smallangryfish , @ladybookworm @freefallingup13 , @acaiaforrest , @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict , @talkingsperm , @qualitychaoslover , @deckofaces ,@7eselt, @annablogsposts , @lunatic-moss-studio , @medusas-hairband

[talaok]

I NEED some protective pedro. Oh God how about them being in a relationship, had a fight and not talking to each other at that moment, attend a friend's party and pedro taking care of her and making sure she is alright while being mad at her and maybe some cute sexy ending...

Pairing: Pedro pascal x reader

Warnings: the most allusion you can allusion to smut

It wasn't one of those huge important fights that break up couples, it was just a stupid little fight.

You wanted to spend Christmas with your family, and him with his, and neither of you was gonna budge.

Silly, right?

Now the only problem was that this "little" argument, had happened right as you were getting ready to go to a party, which you were now driving to in complete silence.

Not even the radio was on, only him, you, and countless passive-aggressive comments on the tip of your tongue.

The tension in the confined space was more than palpable, and when you finally got out of the car it felt as if you'd been underwater the whole time, and for the first time in twenty minutes, you could finally get a breath of fresh air.

Which, now that you realized, it really was fresh... maybe even a little too much for the dress you chose.

"You're cold" Pedro stated, a clear tint of annoyance in his tone.

The fact that all he needed to do was look at you for a second to understand what you were thinking would have been sweet at any other moment, now it was just irritating.

"take my jacket" he urged, handing it to you without so much as a second glance.

"I don't need it, I'm not cold"

And just as you, he would have found your stubbornness cute if it had been any other time.

"The party is in the garden y/n, you're gonna freeze all night just to prove a point?"

God but did he always sound so condescending?

"fine" you grumbled, begrudgingly putting it on as he started walking to the front door, not even bothering waiting for you.

__ __ __

You spent the rest of the night purposely ignoring each other except for exactly three times (yes you had counted them), the first one was when Margareth, whom you very much despised since the only way she seemed to be able to talk to people was by judging them straight to their faces, had cornered you and forced you to listen to how much better she was then you until Pedro had appeared out of nowhere, and pretended he needed to talk to you just to get you away from her.

You didn't even have time to decide whether you wanted to thank him or not that he'd already gone his way.

The second time was when he saw you trip over a patch of grass out of the corner of his eye and as much as he wanted to ignore it, he just couldn't, so he had to excuse himself from the conversation he was having and reach you to make sure you were alright.

"I'm fine Pedro" you'd rolled your eyes

"Have you drank any water?" 

"Oh my god, I'm not drunk I just tripped" 

And that's exactly why the third time you had talked to each other he had approached with a glass of water.

"I told you I'm not drunk"

"You should still drink this"

"Who are you, my mom?" you'd exhaled dramatically "Oh no that's right, My mom is in New York and I won't get to see her this Christmas because apparently we just have to spend it with your family"

You were lucky nobody was ever around anytime you talked because... sheesh, that would have been embarrassing.

"Just drink this please" he'd insisted with a sigh, and finally, partially because you wanted him to go away and partially because you were actually kind of thirsty, you had accepted with a heavy "fine"

And now you were back at home and back at not talking... except that this damn zipper was stuck and as much as you forced it it just wouldn't go down.

"You need help with that?"

He would have been lying if he said he hadn't been enjoying the show for a while now.

"it's stuck" 

Without another word, he was up from the bed and walked behind you as you stood in front of the mirror.

He put one hand on your waist while the other undid your dress with care.

And now yes you were in the middle of an argument, but you weren't responsible for the warmth that spread inside your body at his touch.

 A soft thud reverberated through the room as your dress fell to the floor and a low "fuck" fled his mouth as he took you in from the mirror.

A long beat passed, and then, as if he'd read your mind he asked "Truce?"

And all you could do was nod

"truce"

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

These hands may be bloody (but they're still mine and I'm still yours)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.3k

genre: fluff, sort of hurt/comfort

warnings: there's some talk of timmy being able to hurt reader, but the point is that he doesn't

a/n: hmmmmm actually this is a really good one enjoy <3

"You know, my front door works very well," you point out without looking up, your eyes still trained on the case file in your lap as you sit on your couch, listening to your balcony door click shut and heavy boots walk across your living room.

"Aw, but where's the fun in that?" Red Robin drawls as he settles on the arm of your couch, leaning over to try to look at your file before you snap it shut and throw it onto your coffee table.

"There are a lot of apartments to break into around here, Red. You should start branching out." You quip. 

"Those other apartments don't give me what I need."

"Which is…?" You prompt. He extends his hand, dropping a flash memory drive into your lap. You look at him witheringly. "I should start charging you."

"I don't have the time to keep eyes on all the leads I need to. Help me out a little." Red Robin smiles, a sharp grin that seems to glint in the darkness of your apartment.

"I did," you emphasize. "I've helped you out for weeks. When are you gonna have enough of me, Red?"

"You watch the news, I'm sure." He ignores your question. "The intel you're helping me get is doing real damage to the drops trade. You're making Gotham a better place. You're doing something good here."

"Should I pull out the pompoms or are you done with the cheerleading speech?" You shoot back dryly. 

"C'mon, please. Just… give me a little something. Help me out here," Red Robin slides off the arm of your couch so that he can kneel in front of you, propping his chin on his hand and looking at you imploringly through his mask.

"Don't grovel. It freaks me out," you say. He laughs. Your heart thumps at the sound in a way you hate. 

"Please…?"

"Fine. Just - get up, will you?" You snap as he pulls himself up to his feet. The way he stands in front of you, towering over your sitting form with his arms crossed menacingly, you faintly remember in the back of your head that you should be afraid of him. The moonlight from your windows lights his silhouette like a halo, his face hidden from you as you stare up at him. He could hurt me, you think. Why hasn't he, yet?

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says plainly.

"Excuse me?" You shift, wishing you had a mask of your own.

"You can say no to me. Give me back the drive and I'll leave. You'll never see me again." Your eyes flit over Red Robin's face at his words, wishing desperately that you could see his face so that maybe you could begin to guess what's going on in his mind. But he stays standing, shrouded in the darkness of night as he looks down on you, his posture straight and his muscles taut. He's… offended, you think maybe. Huh. 

"If I thought you were going to hurt me, I wouldn't be so apt to keep letting you into my home," you say softly. The muscles of his forearms tighten where his arms are crossed and you wince internally at the words you chose. Wrong answer, you think. Somewhere fuzzy in the back of your mind, you consider the possibility that you might make him angry enough that he does hurt you.

"Are you letting me in? Really? Could you find a way to keep me out if you wanted to?" Red Robin points out. You freeze, your mind spinning at the insinuation of his words - at the reminder that the two of you are inherently on uneven footing. No matter how much he tries to hide his teeth behind a wolfish grin, you are still a lamb led to slaughter every time he slips through your balcony door.

"Yes," you say stubbornly. "I would ask you to leave… and you would. That's all I ever need to keep you out." Your fingers tangle in the blanket that's thrown haphazardly over your couch as you wait for his response. Tell me I'm right, you think pleadingly. Tell me you'll listen when I tell you to stay or go. 

Red Robin's shoulders slouch, his posture deflating as he sags, bending to sit perched on the edge of your coffee table and look at you. He reaches forward with a slowness that has to be deliberate, using gentle fingers to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before he pulls back quickly.

"Yes," he says, and his voice rings with a conviction that you haven't heard from him before. "That's all you'll ever need. Say the word and I leave. Or… or say the word and I… stay." You release a breath at his words, leaning back to sag against your couch and look him up and down.

There's a silence that hangs between the two of you, bated breath held by Tim as he waits for your response. Please tell me to stay, he wants to beg. Please tell me you believe me. Please let me keep you safe. He watches as your eyes flit over him, mulling over his words as you make your decision. I'm a dog with a bloody muzzle, I know, but it will never be your blood on my teeth.

"Leave the drive with me," your words snap him out of his inner spiralling and Red Robin straightens, the wood of your coffee table legs shifting slightly under his weight. "I'll let you know when - if I find something."

He nods stiffly and stands, stepping over your legs easily to make his way back to your door. Your hand shooting out to grab onto his stops him in his tracks, though, and when he looks down at you, you pull back, opening your mouth to utter an apology. Before you can, though, he crouches in front of you again, reaching to take your hand back into his, his brow furrowed in sudden worry.

"Next time you come around…" you begin, and his heart thumps at the over-confident, teasing tone that's made its way back into your voice. "Don't sit on my coffee table like that. You'll break it. The couch arms, too. I have real chairs for a reason." Red Robin laughs and squeezes your hand before letting it go and standing, moving back towards your balcony door.

"I'll keep that in mind… for next time," he says, sliding the door open. Before he slips through it and into the darkness, though, he stops to look at you one last time.

"It's your fault, you know," he says plainly.

"What?"

"You never told me what your rate is."

"What are you talking about?" You sigh.

"I can't pay you… I don't know how much I owe you. You haven't told me what you're charging," he points out. You stare back at him, and although the shadows obscure his masked face once again, you find it doesn't bother you so much.

"...you don't owe me anything, Red. You never will," you say gently. He doesn't smile this time - instead, an emotional little noise gets punched out of his lungs before he nods his head, slipping out into the night and closing your door silently behind him. As you sit on the couch, turning the memory drive over in your hands, you hear the faint click of the door being locked again somehow from the outside and you smile to yourself. It doesn't seem too bad to have a wolf at your door some nights.

[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ i ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

author's note: i wont take tags for this im sorry 😭 also, i changed the faceclaim

masterlist.

The room is dimly lit. You didn't like dim lighting. It reminds you of your childhood bedroom. A barely functioning lightbulb hanging on the ceiling, your mother never bothering to change it. You were too short to change it yourself. You asked your neighbor once to do it for you but he had asked for a night with you in exchange so you kicked him out of the house before he could change the light bulb. You chose to study under the sucky light which became the reason behind your poor eyesight today.

You sit on a chair across Atty. Kim Jin Hwang, HAN entertainment's legal representative and one of the best lawyers Seoul has to offer, with a table dividing the two of you. He’s a man in his fifties, quite close to the age of retirement. He’s a veteran and despite his age, his mind is still sharp. 

You refrain yourself from tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. Anxiety does not look good on you and you refuse to show people that you're anxious. Anxiety is weakness so you keep your posture straight and make sure to keep eye contact with Atty. Kim. If you look away first, you're a coward.

“Tell me honestly. Is this you in the pictures?” Atty. Kim Jin Hwang points at the pictures sprawled across the table. They’re blurry and grainy and incredibly zoomed in. You can't even tell it was you from some angles. You look quite different from the person that you were when you were sixteen. HAN Entertainment is particularly fond of investing in their idol’s plastic surgeries and while they only fixed your crooked teeth, removed the hump on your nose bridge, altered your uneven ears, bleached your skin, and plucked your brows—which are quite minor changes—you still hold very little resemblance to the teenage you. 

You grew up well. Thankfully, you inherited only the best parts of your parents. Or at least, the best parts of your Mom. You have no idea what your father looked like, only knowing that he was from Brazil or some country in South America.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, not bothering to lie. What is the point of lying anyway? People have been calling you all sorts of malicious names across different social media platforms and you’re sure Atty. Kim has seen some of them. There’s no point lying to his face and saving your image anymore. Might as well admit that you are exactly the kind of person they’ve been yapping about. An illegal driver. A criminal. 

“Why did you do it?” Atty. Kim asks and truthfully, you did not expect the question. You expected the what and how and where and when but never the why question. You fall into a thoughtful pause.

“I was sixteen,” you shrug your shoulders, almost uncaringly so. “I wanted to leave home as early as I could and to do that, I needed money. Nobody wanted to accept student part-timers and I tried doing stuff like tutoring and doing other people’s assignments but it wasn't enough. I have a friend who joins street races. He’s not a good driver but he’s got a good car. He really wants to win so he cheated and let me drive his car on the condition that if I win, he’ll split me the winner’s money. I did it. I won races in that car, acting as if he was the one driving it.”

Atty. Kim gives you a long look. You don’t know what it means. 

“Alright,” Atty. Kimlifts his chin and rises from his chair. “That concludes our meeting. In the meantime, you lay low. We’ll handle everything.”

You nod, “Okay.”

True to Atty. Kim’s words, HAN entertainment handled everything. They released a statement that you watched one race because you were sixteen and clueless and didn't know you were getting yourself involved in an illegal activity. It helped that you drove under a different name so people were easily convinced of this lie. You knew your friend—the owner of the car— wouldn't even reveal that it was you who’d driven the car. His ego would be bruised once the people discovered that he cheated on the street races and a sixteen-year-old girl with no license and no personal car outperformed him. 

Additionally, HAN announced that you were to depart your group—ORACLE—which absolutely destroyed you because ORACLE had been the place where you felt like you belonged. ORACLE had been your goal. You worked yourself to the bone to the point of collapse because you wanted to be in ORACLE and wanted to remain in ORACLE.

Nevertheless, you accepted your fate easily. There was no point destroying the other members because of your fault alone. 

Your members cried for a whole week after the announcement was made public through HAN Entertainment’s official social media platforms and you spent every single day you could still spend inside the dorm reassuring them, telling them that you’d still be there for them, that you’d be standing behind them in each step to their success. You loved your girls so much. You wouldn't even choose to leave them. If only fate was a bit kinder to you. If only life was less brutal.

Furthermore, HAN made you publish a handwritten apology letter. You couldn't remember what you wrote anymore but you did remember how heavy the pen felt, how your hands trembled as you wrote each sentence, how writing the damn letter took three hours because you kept breaking down midway. They announced your hiatus promptly after. They used the term indefinite hiatus but it might as well be retirement.

You can't believe that you suffered through sixteen years under the same roof as your incredibly abusive mother, left home with only a backpack and a paper bag of cash just as you hit eighteen years old, worked your way in the harsh world by juggling three part-time jobs and a scholarship-shouldered university education until a scout noticed you, undergone the rigorous and borderline suicidal training of a KPop idol to-be, and sacrificed everything you had—mental stability, blood, sweat, and tears—just so you could pass every monthly evaluation and become your company’s darling, only to have everything disappear because someone found pictures of you predebut in an illegal street racing event. Fuck. 

You were fucking sixteen at that time! You didn't know any better. You only wanted money. You didn't have a license. Getting one is too expensive. You borrowed a car from a friend. It's an unregistered car. You drove the car. You won races. You stopped when you turned eighteen. That was it. 

Knetz decided to crucify you for a sin born out of your desperation when you were sixteen. When a dog was hungry, it ate whatever was thrown its way, uncaring if the food thrown at it was good or not because its primary instinct was only to cure its hunger. It was not as if you sexually assaulted someone. It was not as if you bullied someone and involved yourself in school violence. It was not as if you drank alcohol and drove or even involved yourself in gambling. Sure, street racing was illegal but you never even hurt someone! You never even crashed into someone mid-race.

You’re sure you’re going to leave the company and you won't fight their decision if they want you to do so. People spit out their gum when they lose their flavor. That's also what the industry did. You saw it happen too many times to too many idols. They collect pretty faces, push them to their limits until they could be loved by the public and once the public decides they’re not worth loving anymore, they’d spit them out. You are a gum in this story.

You feel like you’re eighteen again. You want to run away from home all over again. You ran away from the house you were born in once and now, you’re going to run away from the house you worked hard to live in. You want to pack your bags and board the next plane to another country even before the light of the rising sun touches the ground. That gnawing feeling of not belonging to a place that’s supposed to be home kept tormenting the cracks of your heart and the only way to seemingly get rid of it albeit only temporarily is to pick up on your feet and run away, never to leave anything behind you. Not ghosts, not traces, not memories—nothing.

But HAN entertainment won't let you. Yoon PD-nim knocked on your door, a contract in hand. He offered you an apartment to live in, a salary, a place in the company, and told you to keep creating songs. HAN Entertainment knew your talent in song making and producing was partly behind the success of ORACLE, their rising girl group. You were too useful to get rid of easily. 

And like that, you spent the last two years making music for every kpop group under HAN Entertainment. You mostly made B-sides for the junior girl groups, AURORA and PRIZMA, and the title tracks for boy groups, HIRA and 1THEBOY. You worked for soloist, Ciel, once for his last comeback before his mandatory military service and worked on half a mini-album’s worth of songs for ORACLE every comeback. Thankfully, the songs gained positive feedback from the general public. That was your ticket to keep staying in HAN entertainment as a ghost producer and ghost song-writer.

Two years. You rotted in your apartment and the studio. This felt no different than the time you lived under your parents’ roof. You felt like a ghost, present but also not quite there. It's quite fitting, you think. You're a ghost producer and a ghost song-writer. 

This was not a life worth living but you’d rather a life not worth living than have nothing at all. 

You empty your fifth cup of coffee for the day—an unhealthy brew of Americano with five shots of espresso—before standing up from the ergonomic chair where you’ve glued your ass on in the last two to three business hours. The demo for Sunset Paradise is almost finished. There are still a few parts that need major adjustments and refinement but you’re confident that you’ll be done by midnight.

Manager-nim enters the studio just as you reach the door. You jump, almost kicking the indoor potted plant inconveniently positioned near the door. The caffeine made you extra jumpy today. Once you get over your tiny shock, you bow your head in greeting. Manager-nim mirrors your actions.

“You're still working?” he asks.

“You're still bald?” 

Manager-nim rolls his eyes at you, smiling. You chuckle. 

Manager-nim, or rather, Song Dan, is ORACLE’s manager. He is a middle-aged man who only came up to your shoulders. He’s shaped like a square with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He treated you and the other members of ORACLE as if you were his daughters. 

“I’m going to go get coffee. You can sit here for a while,” you invite, gesturing to the tiny cream couch. You use your feet to nudge the potted plant and clear Manager-nim’s path.

“No coffee,” Manager-nim stops you, taking a seat. “That's enough coffee for you today. Sit down here. We need to talk.”

“You can't kick me out. I won't give you Ciel’s first post-military mini album and ORACLE’s summer title track if you do.”

Manager-nim’s eyebrows draw together, a vertical wrinkle appearing between them, “What? No. We're not kicking you out.”

Your shoulders sag, relieved.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single.”

At that, your entire body stiffens, eyes going wide as saucers. You let out a noise in disbelief.

“You're joking.”

Manager-nim’s face doesn't shift in the slightest.

“You're actually serious,” you rub your chin with your hand. 

What is Yoon PD-nim trying to pull now? Two years have passed since you’ve disappeared from the limelight. You're certain that you're not returning to the world of flashing lights and stage performance anymore and you’ve already accepted that your career has ended.

“Why?” your voice slightly wavers as you ask. Manager-nim sighs heavily, patting the vacant space beside him.

“Take a seat. We’re going to be talking for a while.”

The girl in the mirror stares back at you. She looks exhausted. She has deep bags underneath her eyes. Her shoulders are bony. They look like they're about to pierce through her pale skin. Her lips, which should be a nice shade of pink, are pale. Her eyes hold emptiness.

You pull your gaze away from your reflection and direct it to the bathroom sink, where a hair brush sits on the white tiles quietly. Fallen hair gathers up in its numerous sharp teeth. At this rate, you’re going to end up like Manager-nim—bald. 

You can't go bald. You have a weirdly shaped head.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single but before the release, he needs you to be in a PR relationship with someone.”

You hiss loudly, slapping a hand on your temple. God, you want to act like Manager-nim never said that. You don't want to remember it.

You? A PR relationship? With someone you don't know? How atrocious. You didn't even need to hear Manager-nim out until the end. You are out. You do not vibe with romantic relationships. They make your skin crawl.

“Listen, [Name]. This might be your only chance to come back again.”

“What if I don't want to come back again?”

“Then why are you still here? Why are you still making music? You're good at leaving so why didn't you?”

The public still terrifies you but you will never tell that to anyone. You can’t even go out and buy groceries without trembling. So many eyes. So many judging eyes. They're all waiting to destroy you again with their stupid eyes and stupid mouths with sharp teeth. A stupid PR relationship won't save you.

But what if it will?

You hold the edges of the sink and lean the majority of your weight against it. Your knuckles slowly turn white. Your knees feel weak. You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

Why are you still here? A voice in your head asks.

I just want to be home. You reply.

Do it. This is your ticket to go home. It says.

You open your eyes and gaze into the mirror. 

Do you want to be home?

More than anything.

With a nod, you push yourself away from the sink and exit the bathroom.

Yoon Sang Hyuk, CEO of HAN Entertainment—the black marble desk name plate indicates; the text an intimidating shade of gold. The owner of the name sits behind the table, his legs crossed over the other. His face is sealed with a neutral expression. Suddenly, a satisfied smile works its way across his face and you swear the wrinkles that permeated his entire face doubled in amount.

“I knew you still had it in you,” he says calmly. “That's good.”

“Thank you,” you say, your tone coming out bland. 

“I’ll give you a manager and you are to leave for Singapore tomorrow.”

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Oh and [Name]?”

“Yes, Yoon PD-nim?”

“I know you're smart and you're hardworking and you're strong,” he begins. “I am confident you’ll do well so when you fly out there, don't be intimidated by any of them. You're as powerful as them. Remember the reason why you're there in the first place and do what you think is best.”

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you observe. 

It's questionable; the amount of trust he’s giving you. You already expected that Yoon PD-nim would send out an entire escort team just to make sure that you're not going to mess up again and get yourself involved in a PR nightmare incident. Who knows? Maybe someone will dig up pics of you copying homework from your seatmate in middle school and crucify you for being an academic cheater while you're out there holding hands with your fake boyfriend.

“I know you won't make the same mistake twice.”

You finally catch the underlying message behind his seemingly harmless words.

Focus on coming back and don't make another mistake. 

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Lando Kinder Norris,” you read the name on the folder, brows furrowing. That's a rather unique middle name. “British-Belgian. Born November 13, 1999—” 

It's good that your fake boyfriend and you were born in the same year. You're not very fond of age gaps.

“—in Bristol, England. Currently racing for McLaren. Car number 4. First entry is the Australian Grand Prix.”

Below is a series of long paragraphs detailing his racing history that you’re definitely not reading. Shoving the folder aside, you lean back into the seat and cross your arms over your chest. Your eyes flutter close. Jinnie, a HAN entertainment manager who looks like she’s half white and half Asian, gives you a judging look from her seat. 

“You should read it,” she advises.

“No,” you say.

“I spent hours compiling that information,” Jinnie frowns. 

“You compiled the wrong info,” you tell her, not even bothering to glance towards her. “Nobody will believe we’re real if I only know the things written in Wikipedia. You should have asked his PR team how he likes his coffee, if he prefers brunch dates or dinner dates, if he likes staying in or going out, if he likes the sunny weather or the rain, if he’d rather get food delivery or cook, if he’d like to hold hands and walk side by side or walk ahead of you so he can act like your guard dog. Those things.”

To be loved is to be known.

“You speak as if you have romantic experience.”

“Do poets have to experience the things they write poetry about?” you retort. “Immanuel Kant believed that everything depended on how individuals interpret and respond to his environment based on their personal opinions and feelings. I don't need to experience it to know.”

Recurring observations are your common source of knowledge. Reading is another.

And besides, this isn't your first PR relationship. You like to think that you know exactly what you're doing.

“Tell me something that's not written in the folder, Jinnie-ssi,” you open your eyes and tilt your head so you can lock eyes with her. “For example, why does a distinguished racer need a fake relationship? I can’t be the only one benefiting from this agreement.”

Jinnie purses her lips, “I don't know much.”

“But you know something,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. “Tell me.”

“There have been rumors that Lando Norris got a girl pregnant. The woman marched into Woking and demanded to see him. Apparently, he got her pregnant when they slept together in a bar,” Jinnie shakes her head. “It's a messy ordeal but McLaren recently proved that Lando wasn't the father. Too bad though, the public isn't believing them.” 

“And they think giving him a girlfriend would somehow make the public love him?”

“They need to show the world that their boy isn't an asshole,” Jinnie says. “That he’s a loving, loyal partner. That he isn't capable of committing fuckboy crimes because he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home.”

You snort. McLaren really decided that you’ll be the best girlfriend? How did they even know your existence? The KPop community and the F1 community are worlds far away from each other. It's easier for them to choose a supermodel, an American actress, or even a pop star. But no, they really decided that a washed-up KPop idol is a good girlfriend for their star boy. You can think of a few reasons why they chose you. 

“Are you sure he really isn't the father?” you ask. Companies can ignore morality for the sake of protecting their golden images. HAN Entertainment is no different. For all you know, you’re going to be fake dating an asshole who made a woman pregnant and refused to take responsibility. He’d be no different from your father who left your pregnant mother.

“Beats me.”

An hour later, the plane lands in the most expensive city in the world, Singapore.

You have three choices: a VAQUERA blue devil sweatshirt, Motel Rock chute trousers, and a Adidas forum low shoes combo, or a varsity baseball jacket, Bonbom rhee cargo pants, and a Curetty C round toe mary janes combo. You went with the varsity jacket-cargo pants-mary janes combo. You put on a bonnet to finish the look. When Jinnie enters the hotel room and sees what you're wearing, she immediately says:

“No. You're definitely not wearing that.”

“What's wrong with this?” you ask, looking down at your fit. This is what you usually wear. They're comfortable and acubi fashion is a trend nowadays. 

“You're a WAG now. Dress like it.”

Your eyebrow arches.

“WAG?”

“Wife and girlfriend,” Jinnie replies. Your confusion isn't absolved, not even the slightest. Your mouth pulls to the side.

“And how does this correlate to my fashion sense? Do race car drivers control their girlfriend’s fashion style?” you genuinely question.

“No,” Jinnie says. “But they’d prefer it if you dress in something befitting for a WAG, you know? Elegance? Classic timely looks?”

You put a finger up, “No.”

Jinnie huffs, “I’m not taking a no for an answer. Wear a satin dress. Wear cotton trousers and silk blouses. Look like you're from an old money family, not some hip hop dancer from the streets. You're no longer your own person, you are an extension of Lando Norris. You have to look a certain way, act a certain way, talk a certain way. Your goal is to make Lando Norris look good.”

You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek, annoyed. Your jaw is tense.

“And when Lando Norris looks good, you’ll look good. Good enough that the public will love you again to support your new song. Do you understand?”

She's right.

She's right.

You hate that she's right.

No matter how bitter the truth tastes, you are irrelevant and Lando Norris is your ticket to going back. In any other world, you will never ever allow yourself to become a jewelry for a man to wear. So you grit your teeth, keep the ugly prideful monster within you at bay, and clench your fists. You have nothing and when you have nothing, you need to be resourceful and make use of the people who have the things to push you to the top again.

You let out a sigh, “Jinnie, choose my outfit for me.”

Jinnie nods and leaves the room immediately.

It's three days before the Singapore FP1 2023. Jinnie drives you to meet Lando in his hotel. They organized a lunch gathering with you, Jinnie, Lando, and the other McLaren PR representatives who are responsible for this entire PR scam. 

You're wearing a Versace tweed cardigan and a boucle tweed skirt paired with high heel leather boots and Greca goddess large shoulder bag. All black in color. Jinnie is the one who styled your hair. She insisted on it actually, claiming that your beach waves hair isn't doing it. She flat ironed the hell out of your hair so now, it's straight as a pole. She also sprayed your bangs with strong hold hairspray to keep them in place.

The outside world is nothing but a blur of high-rise buildings and cement pavements as the car runs. You're picking on your nails. They're clean but bare of manicures. Your two pinky nails are a bit too short. You tried to stop yourself from biting them in the airport but you can’t resist.

Two years is a long time. A bit too long in your opinion. You don't remember the things you learned in your etiquette classes anymore—how to stand in the public, how to walk, how to pose in front of the cameras, how to smile, how to greet people, how to look completely in your element despite being anxious of having a thousand eyes staring at you, how to act as if you're not crumbling at the pressure of looking good for everyone. That's the only way they’ll love you. If you look good in their eyes.

“We’re here.”

You blink.

“Come again?”

Jinnie points outside the car window. The car stopped and you didn't notice.

“Sorry,” you mutter, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You let out a breath, roll your shoulders back, and push the door open. Your entire face relaxes and you smile politely at the valet when Jinnie hands him the keys of the car. You ignore the starstruck expression on his face as you gesture to Jinnie to lead the way, following after her but not before saying your thanks to the valet. You're polite. You're trained to be.

You keep your shoulders square and your walk confident as you enter the hotel lobby. There aren’t a lot of people inside. There's a family of four in a corner, a group of elderly people sitting in the waiting area, and a group of posh friends chatting near the front desk. You can see a few heads turning in your peripheral vision. You can't blame them. You can be stunning if you try to be.

Your heart begins to ram violently against your rib cage. A million butterflies infest your intestines. Your ankles feel like it’ll snap in half a few minutes later. Your mind chants: DID THEY NOTICE HOW SCARED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE HOW TERRIFIED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE? DID THEY?

You want your ball cap and your sunglasses and your face mask. You want to hide your face.

You have to control your breathing as subtly as you can but you continue walking as if you're the prettiest yet the most down-to-earth creature to ever grace the planet. You fix your hair again once Jinnie and you stop in front of the elevator. Jinnie presses a button and you wait. While waiting, you twist the sole of your boot against the floor. It's better than tapping it against the floor. The elevator dings and the two of you enter the empty box.

When the doors close, your knees give out. You slam your hands against the stainless steel walls to stop yourself from dropping to your knees on the floor. Jinnie’s hands wrap around your waist, supporting as you pull yourself up. Her face contorts in worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks. You nod quickly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you lay your palm against your chest, right above your drumming heart. “Thanks.”

You straighten up, tugging the hem of your Versace tweed outfit to smoothen the creases and fixing your hair again. You clear your throat. The elevator dings and the doors open. You step out and your mask slides in place. 

Jinnie leads you to a private dining hall. In the middle of a hall is a table occupied by five people wearing tacky orange-black polo shirts. You recognize one of them to be your fake boyfriend, Lando Norris. 

Jinnie had already shown you what he looked like in her tablet and a few printed pictures but the pictures didn't do him justice. He looks extra charming personally.

He's still not your type.

The entire group rises to a stand just as you and Jinnie reach the table. You give a ninety degree bow, hands flat on the collar of your top so you won't accidentally give the McLaren people a view of your chest. (It's not like they have something to see anyway. Your chest is flatter than a rice field.) The edges of your lips curl upwards in a polite smile. You see Lando, your supposed fake boyfriend, try to imitate the bow, although he doesn't go as deep as you did. Your head tilts slightly at his action. 

Jinnie is the first one who speaks, stretching a hand in front of her to shake hands with the McLaren team. She introduces herself in fluent English, “I’m Jinnie Jo of HAN Entertainment. It's a pleasure to meet you. This is [Name].”

They each introduce themselves one by one. Nicole, Greg, Kyla, and Louis. You try to memorize their faces and their names, drilling it into your brain so you won't forget. You're going to be working closely with them after all.

“Hi,” you greet them. You also shake hands with each of them. It feels weird, shaking hands as greetings. You are more accustomed to bowing. 

“Wow, Jinnie, your accent is good,” Kyla compliments your manager.

“Thank you,” Jinnie smiles pleasantly. “I was born in Chicago. English is my first language.”

“How about her? Does she speak English?” Louis inquires. He's giving you a funny look. You ignore it.

“She does,” you smile at him pleasantly. “I’m very fluent. You don't have to worry.”

Risha, the Canadian member of ORACLE, was the one who helped you master English. You even have a Canadian accent when you speak English because of her. Additionally, you also took language classes when you were a trainee—Japanese, Chinese, English, and you even requested Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Korean sign language. You dabbled a bit on Tagalog, too, because you know how large the ORACLE fanbase is in the Philippines. You continued taking the classes up even after debut, even after all the members of the group had stopped, because you wanted to master the languages for the fans, to be able to hold conversations with them, to connect with them. You only stopped going to the classes after leaving the group two years ago. It's nice to see that your English skills are still in perfect shape.

“Please take a seat,” Nicole invites. You and Jinnie sit down. You place your bag on the empty chair beside you and when you pull your gaze up, you coincidentally meet Lando’s eyes. They're blue and green with flecks of hazel dusted in the middle. It's the first time you've seen someone with eyes wielding three different colors. They're stunning.

You smile at him. He smiles back and then averts his gaze. You turn to Nicole, who’s sitting beside you.

“Now,” she says, putting two folders on the table. She slides them towards you and Jinnie. Jinnie picks them up. You don't. Instead, you stare at them. 

“What are these?” you question, slowly bringing your eyes up and meeting Nicole’s gaze.

“Contracts,” she answers.

“Contracts?” you echo, picking the folder up and opening it. You take your sweet time reading from top to bottom, tilting your head a bit to the side.

“You don't have to read it all. It's all just formalities. Just sign it,” Louis inputs. “Reading can be hard for you since it's not your first language—”

“I read just fine,” you interrupt, not glancing up as your eyes thoughtfully scan through the words printed on the paper. “Thank you for the concern but this is a contract that involves me and my future. I wish to know what I’m agreeing to.”

Louis wisely keeps his mouth shut. You put your hand on your mouth so you can discreetly smirk.

When you finish reading, you slowly set the folder back on the table. You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you tap your finger on the wooden surface of the table. 

“This is unfairly written, don't you agree?” you ask. “You're putting rather lots of demands on me but so little on him.”

From beside you, Jinnie thins her lips. You know she's also thinking the same thing. Fucking HAN Entertainment. They didn't even make sure that the contents of the contracts are not disadvantageous towards you. You are disappointed but not surprised. They really just sent you to be devoured by wolves and demanded you to not make a mistake.

McLaren also thinks they can just choose a washed-up KPop idol to cosplay as their golden boy’s trophy girlfriend and make her do all their demands with little benefits and zero complaint. They deliberately chose someone who still holds popularity but little power. Someone who needs them as badly as they need her. They chose you.

Assholes. The two of them.

“What do you want him to do anyway?” Louis sneers. His face is beginning to look a little too annoying. “He's busy building his career. All you have to do is support him and make sure everyone knows it because you have none. That's all. Or is that a little hard for you?”

Louis is getting this all wrong. Jinnie told you that you're going to fix his reputation for him so his career wouldn't be ruined. In exchange, he gives you publicity so you could bring your career back from ruination. This is not a parasitic relationship where only their side gets the benefits. How could you even work on that comeback of yours if you're going to be glued by his side? 

Your jaw ticks with restraint yet you choose to smile, “He’s not the only one building his career.”

You pick up the folder and toss it to Jinnie, who catches it skillfully. 

“Throw that away. We're flying home. I don't need a PR relationship to promote my single that much.”

Satisfaction fills you when their faces grow alarmed. 

Ha.

“Wait,” Kyla stands and she shoots a dirty glance towards Louis. Your eyebrows scrunch a little. “The contracts are open to revisions.”

You clap your hands together, smiling widely.

“Perfect. Jinnie, hand me a pen.”

The team leaves you and Lando alone in the hall to eat, to give you both a chance to get to know each other. 

You allow your eyes to scan the hall. It has a bright spacious ambiance. The windows are stretched from the floor to the ceiling, allowing as much natural light inside. Singapore looks absolutely breathtaking down below. The flooring is made out of natural pine and a crystal chandelier hangs atop the table where you and Lando ate. You keep thinking: what if it'll fall? You shake the thought out of your head and put a fork full of pasta into your mouth.

“Is the pasta good?” Lando asks. You nod, humming and smiling. You don't like it one bit. You're also mildly allergic to shellfish. You're definitely going to get a bad case of rash later. You hope Jinnie is prepared with a medicine kit. You forgot to bring yours.

You wipe your mouth with your table napkin, announcing, “I’m full.”

You have only eaten half the plate.

“Oh you have a…” Lando points at the corner of his lips. You wipe the same area in your face. “No, the other side.”

You wipe the other side, “Is it gone?”

“Allow me,” he says, standing up from his chair and leaning across the table to thumb the stain. 

“Is it gone?” you ask again. Lando nods.

“Yeah, it is.”

He goes back to his seat.

“Thank you,” you smile. “You're already doing great with the whole fake boyfriend act.”

A flustered smile splits Lando’s face, shaking his head.

“I try.”

“By the way,” you begin, leaning a little forward. “Did they also give you a folder with my information?”

Lando nods, “Yeah.”

“Did they also suck?”

He purses his lips.

“Well….” he drawls.

“You can tell me if it sucks. The one my manager gave me looks like it's copy-pasted from Wikipedia.”

Lando chuckles. 

“I mean, your biography is very…detailed? Too detailed, I think. I didn't remember most of them, sorry. I only remember a few of them. Like your birthday. January 1, 2000.”

“1999.”

“Pardon?”

You wave your hand in a theatrical flourish, “I was born in 1999. The company manipulated my public information.”

Lando’s brows raise in surprise.

“They do that?”

“You’ll be surprised,” you lean back into your chair.

“But why?”

“So every member in ORACLE can be born in 2000. I don't know,” you shrug your shoulders. 

“That seems like an unnecessary change.”

“It is,” you agree. “But HAN wants everything to be perfect. They see a flaw. They fix it to their liking immediately.”

“What are the other things that are a scam in your biography?”

“Scam is a big word,” you tell him, amused. “But I’ll tell you. In exchange, tell me about yourself. Not the info I can read in Wikipedia. In order to make this work, I have to know you.”

To be loved is to be known.

“Alright,” Lando says. “We can take turns asking each other questions.”

“Cool,” you bring a glass of water towards your lips, taking a sip. “I’ll start. How do you like your coffee?”

[dragonridernoobie]

How does tfp Team Prime react to meeting an emotionally-detached femme who is heavily scarred and became ruthless due to circumstances. She's trying to improve for the team and remains quiet as a response to the horrors she's seen. (Horrors that, let's say are the reason she's walked alone until now)

However, she rediscovers her old love for art and begins gifting them the paintings she's made of them, smiling a little when they're accepted. The last one presented to all of them is called the 'Family portrait', which is of the entire team, including the humans.

Hmmm, intresting....I tried my best, and tha k you for being patient!!!!

TFP Autobots X Emotionally Didatched Reader

When the autobot team met (Y/N), it was when an escape pod crash landed on earth. They where excited since another autobot was alive.

When they met (Y/N) they immediately could tell (Y/N) was distant. They acted like UltraMagnus just more...distance.

When they welcomed (Y/N) to the base, (Y/N) was quick to help train the team like UltraMagnus. They whernt as stricked but still called out the team if they messed up on moved or attacks.

The team had mixed feelings about them, but one thing they all can agree with. Why was (Y/N) so distant, emotionless, and strict.

They decided to find out in each of their own own ways. Each team member agreed to try and get information out of (Y/N).

Bulkhead

Bulkhead tried first.

With miko and him, they tried to do it with music.

They took (Y/N) them on a mission and listened to heavey metal with them.

Even if (Y/N) kept reminding them to focus.

When it got to the end of the mission, they tried to ask (Y/N) straight forward

But (Y/N) just told them to focus on themselves.

Bumblebee

Bumblebee and Ralph was next.

They tried to do it with video games.

They somehow convinced (Y/N) to play a few games with them.

When they started to play, they would watch their reaction on certain games to see if there where some signs.

None.

Arcee

Arcee and jack where next as well.

They decided to try and get information out of (Y/N) by a nice relaxing car drive.

They told (Y/N) that they needed to go scouting and they wanted them to come.

While they drove around, Arcee and Jack asked a few questions here and there.

(Y/N) never gave them a proper response.

Ratchet

He dident ask (Y/N) straight out but he was more blunt then the others.

He asked (Y/N) if they got any injuries in the past, if they had a family, etc.

(Y/N) never responded but just let ratchet do a check up on them.

Once done, (Y/N) says bluntly

"Focus on you're work doctor."

Optimus

For optimus, he never asked (Y/N)

Since he knew everyone has their own story

He only asked when after a mission, (Y/N) snapped and started to yell at the team

After (Y/N) walked away, he would ask what has happened and (Y/N) explained.

They once where in a happy family. They had a partner, sparklings, a home. That was intel the war started.

They lost everything. They watched their sparklings be killed infront of them when decpticons attacked their home.

They served in the autobot army with their partner intel he was killed.

They have been alone for a long time and they learned that showing emotions will get you attached to people who could die in the next hour.

So they chose to stay emotionless. They carr for the team, the team almost feels like a family, that why they need to be ready for anything.

Optimus understood and explained that he agreed, but they could not be so hard on them. They deserve to be happy, and that they are trying. Each of them are fighting for their own things.

He asked (Y/N) to show a bit of emotion since a team must work together, and no good communication is a way to break a team.

(Y/N) agrees to do so. So, when they see the team again, they try to show emotions by smiling awkwardly.

Ya, it scared the team.

They are trying, though.

[argisthebulwark]

TES Summer Fest Day Four: Thief/Enamoured

summary: Disgruntled by Brynjolf's talented new recruit, Mercer tries to learn why you chose to join his Guild. gn reader/Mercer, no gendered pronouns or y/n used. warnings: haters to lovers, threats of violence as a form of flirting. sexually suggestive but not explicit. @tes-summer-fest TES Summerfest Masterlist

"You'd be dead if that guard had a brain."

Mercer basks in the glare you shoot his way, so easily slipping into this familiar role he's built for himself. He's lying, of course - he'd barely picked up on a whisper of your boot against the stone floors and your ability to blend with the shadows was unlike anything he's seen in decades. Unfortunately, it's far more fun to pick on you.

"And you'd be dead if I had my blades." Gods, he adores the venom in your voice. Mercer picks up on the instinctive way your hand drops to your hip in search of a weapon and a shiver runs down his spine. The practice dummies you're slinking around are as likely to notice you as an actual guard but praise is too dangerous.

Rationally, he knows that he should be terrified. Brynjolf had somehow convinced you to drop the Brotherhood in favor of joining the Thieves Guild - it shows in the comfortable crouch you drop into and the perceptive way your eyes never seem to settle, but also in your ruthlessness. Mercer knows he should fear the way that your first reaction is one of violence but for some godforsaken reason it only eggs him on.

"If you can't follow the rules you'll be out on your ass." Mercer growls, ignoring the way his cheeks heat when you saunter closer. He detests how naturally it all comes to you - he's seen dozens of recruits stumble through the training room but for you it's so natural. If only you'd drop the inclination for violence you'd be the perfect recruit.

"I haven't killed anyone." The false, saccharine innocence of your words fans the flames in his chest. Mercer glares down at you, hating the way his heart flips at the way your lashes bat up at him. You have to know what you're doing to him - it's painfully obvious that you're under his skin.

"Drop the bullshit." Fuck, he'd only wanted to bother you but each word feeds the unbearable heat growing in his gut. You're too close, only an arms length away. Mercer wonders which he'd do if he reached out - would he harm you or drag you closer? Which urge would prove stronger?

"You're the one who can't get over my past." You scoff with an accusatory finger jabbing into his chest. Mercer can hardly think, rage and arousal twisting until there's not a drop of self control left.

"Oh, forgive me." Gods, he loves the anger simmering in your eyes at his taunt. "You move like an assassin, make threats like an assassin, and trained for months to become one - but it's my mistake to assume you're a killer."

"I dropped all that to join your shitty guild." Mercer adores the barely leashed rage in your voice. Another jab of your finger into his chest sends him reeling, too worked up to watch his mouth.

"And what did Bryn offer you for that?" Low and conspiratorial, he attempts to voice a question that's plagued him for ages. "I know you couldn't have come cheap and we don't have piles of gold kickin' around - was it something a bit more intimate?"

He's too twisted in his own jealousy to properly acknowledge the shock on your face. It's the one mystery he's been unable to shake, driving him mad on nights when sleep evades him - had Brynjolf caught your interest? Mercer's never given much thought to the private lives of his thieves but fuck, you've lodged yourself firmly in his mind.

"What if it was?" Oh, how he loves that nasty smirk on your pretty lips. Your hand flattens against his chest when you lean in dangerously close to glare straight up at him. Mercer nearly chokes as arousal steals all rational thought.

"Would that matter to you?" Fuck, he'd said too much. You've realized just how much control you have despite all his barking. "Poor Guild Master, would that make you jealous?"

"Fuck no." He lies through gritted teeth but it's no use.

"Don't worry, Mercer." Gods, you talking down to him should piss him off. It shouldn't make him weak in the knees. "It was my decision to become a thief. Maybe I didn't have the stomach to be a killer."

One condescending pat is left on his shocked face before you're turning away, tiptoeing back toward the practice dummies as if nothing's happened. Mercer glares after you, tongue suddenly far too thick to summon any of his usual cutting remarks. You've beat him at his own game.

Turning on his heel, Mercer supposes he has to accept defeat. He'd admired the grace in your movements before the urge to bother you became too strong to ignore. Perhaps it's better to keep his distance if he can't bite his tongue in your presence.

"I like being a thief better." He pauses, stunned into silence at the blatant honesty in your voice. No false innocence, no snark. With backs turned to one another Mercer marvels at the possibility of you speaking plainly.

"Pay's shit compared to the Brotherhood but there's less clean up. And..." you trail off and Mercer's gnawing at his lip, both desperate and terrified that your next words will break his heart. "The people aren't half bad here."

[jealousmartini]

✦ My average schedule + Get ready with me on a random college day as an art student and an LOASS babe ⊹₊ㆍ👜

   ── .✦  ┆  ᡣ𐭩  ┆  ␥ 

Long ass post ahead

FYI!! We only have 4 days of college, so we get Friday off. My longest days in college are Monday, 11:15 am to 4:45 pm (depending on if we have tutorial first thing. If not, we will come in at 1 pm), and Tuesday, 11:15 am to 4:15 pm. My shortest days are Wensdays, 11:15 am to 3:00 pm and Thursday, 9 am to 12:30 pm. The days that are shorter than the others (mainly Thursday) are the ones that I prioritise focusing on extra work after hours. It is super important to me to use my Thursday free time for extra research/analysises/art work at home so I can so I can stay ahead and not fall behind in class

╰┈➤ " She's an overachiever " click here!

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────»

GRWM! The longest day of the week, Monday!

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The goal is to get a bus around 10:25 am to 10:45 am in order to get to college at 11:15 am

[ 000 :: Getting up ]

✦ I wake up at 9:15 am and immediately make my bed because no one likes to come home to an untidy bed.

✦ And then my first favourite thing I do is wonder what I wanna smell like today, I take out my specifically scented body wash, 2 in 1 shampoo, hair gel, body cream, deodorant (preferably scentless), and perfume with the scent I chose and then I do my blanket affirming in my 15-20 minute shower. After the shower, I moisturise my body with my scented body cream, spray deodorant, and move onto my clothes.

[ 001 :: Getting dressed ] — estimated time 9:35

✦ I love dressing up. At this point, I do my best not to overthink what to wear because I know I will be there forever, making multiple outfits but never choosing one. So I focus on what style I'm going for and pick out my clothes, always being mindful of the colours of course and then put them on

✦ Next I decide wether or not I want to wear make up (more times yes than no) but before I do my usual make up look, I quickly do my skin care routine to protect my skin and then I do my cutesy girlie make up all while affirming my blanket affirmations

✦ And then I move on to do my hair. Because I have super curly hair, depending on what style I want, it takes a bit of time to manage. So I usually settle with doing something simple like brushing my curls out into a fro and then putting it into a bun or puffs, or I leave my curls defined and either leave my hair down or put it in a bun, space buns or a tail type which usually takes me 10-15 minutes, taking us up to 9:55-10 o'clock.

✦ But if I'm feeling ambitious, I'll straighten/blow out my hair and do a straight hairstyle. I usually go for bantu knots, spikey buns (my signature half up, half down), pigtails/ponytails, or leave it down. Doing this would take me around 15-20 minutes, taking us up to 10 o'clock to 10:10.

[ 002 :: Breakfast time ] — estimated time 10:00

✦ It's always important to start your day with a satisfied stomach, which is why I always make sure I know what I want to eat for breakfast and if I want to eat a lot. Once I've made my breakfast, I like to look over the work I have already done on my ipad to see what more could be added while I eat.

✦ I try not to eat too slowly or take too much time doing tiny bits of extra work because I still need to brush my teeth and get my bag (which is always already packed). When I have finished my food, brushed my teeth and got my bag, I should be at the door by 10:30 to 10:45

[ 003 :: Ready to leave ] — estimated time 10:40

✦ I don't live far from my bus stop, so it usually takes me around 5-6 minutes to walk there, and then around 25 minutes to get to college on the bus.

✦ But sometimes my man best friend drives to my house to pick me up and then we both go to college together. I don't know which one I prefer the most to be honest but going by car is definitely a lot quicker (given that there isn't any traffic) and I just love beening in the presence of my boyfie bff

[ 004 :: College hours ] — estimated time 11:15

✦ Hurray we arrived on time! Looking delicious and smelling delicious. Now it is time to get to class and get a load of work done like the overachiever I am.

✦ Lunch time comes around and I leave the classroom to the couch area where my (girl) best friend is waiting for me. We chat and eat and chat some more until it's time to part ways back to class.

✦ Another more than generous amount of work gets done be me and my two super cool art besties, I'm sure the same can be said for the rest of the class but this isn't about them rn.

There's five people per table in my class, but only two tables in the middle have the ten of us, the other 3 tables are empty because we're a small class but I sit along side my two good classmates on the left side. We are very attentive, concentrated, and skilled art students. We always check up on each others art and written work, giving each other ideas and such. We are even jokingly referred to as "competition" by two of our other classmates (im not a fan of those two but it is what it is)

[ 005 :: Home time ] — scheduled time 4:45

✦ Sometimes, college can be grueling. Especially on Mondays. So to be able to have a close friend group to reunite with after the last hour of college is so so comforting. ESPECIALLY WHEN ITS AUTUMN/WINTER SEASON because it gets really dark in the late afternoon very quickly and I always prefer to go home with company in these seasons.

✦ I take the same bus as I did to college back home with my friends, usually right after getting a snack together and because we are a group of four (six if i include boy bestfriends sister and her boyfriend), none of us have to worry about strangers sitting next to us.

The bus drive home is always relaxing and in my opinion fun too.

[ 006 :: Arriving home ] — estimated time 5:10

✦ First day of the week done. Time to unwind, clean up, eat, relax and sleep. As soon as I get back home, I love to have a quick gossip with my mum about my day and get unready with my best friends of face time

There's this very common belief that you always have to talk of face time, but that's not all ways true. Me and my friends just like to have each others presence in silence, occasionally being nosy every now and then about what's for dinner, what's on TV and that's about it. Nothing more nothing less and its perfect that way.

I inform my friends I'm off to get a shower, I like to use my scentless soaps and body creams for bed time or maybe some light essential oils like lavender, I get out and throw an oversized T on because I don't like sleeping with bottoms on, yank my pink bonnet over my curls, slip my feet into some fluffy pink sliders and whatever I choose to do with the rest of my evening is random and spontaneous depending on what I'm in the mood for in the comfort of my home that I manifested ♡

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

જ⁀➴. And that's my average GRWM/schedule of a random day on a random college day as an artist and an LOASS babe ⊹₊ㆍ♡⋆₊˚⊹ I dunno if you could tell but this was secretly a vault lmao

[winedrunkwords]

lovely vision.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: the one where people can tell when steve thinks about you and mike can't whisper. [1.1k]

warnings: fluff, unrequited-to-requited-love, gender-neutral!reader

✮⋆˙ ★⋆｡ °⋆ 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

In hindsight, he really played himself, hoping his super-observant, super-loud, no-boundary-having friends wouldn’t say anything. He couldn’t tell if that made it better or worse.

It’s one thing for Steve Harrington, self-proclaimed Halloween hater, to not mind when other people decorate his space. That can just be written off to him being polite and kind, even though Dustin would scoff at that and Eddie would laugh and Mike would call him out on the word “polite” being anywhere near his name.

The point is, being around other people’s decorations had some kind of plausible deniability. Him putting up Halloween decoration himself, however, there’s no deniability in that.

“What’s that?” Dustin asked as he slid into the backseat of Steve’s BMW, pointing at the ghost charm that dangles from the rearview mirror. Steve offered (read: was blackmailed) into driving the boys from the Wheelers house to the arcade even though they had perfectly functioning bikes. But then Dustin said they were teaching you how to play some game whose name he couldn’t remember and he definitely didn’t want you walking all that way, and since he was going that way anyways….

“Nothing,” Steve snapped back, staring straight ahead. Hopefully that would be the end of it and no one would s—

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” offered Mike, the traitor. His hair was long and in his eyes, like Eddie’s, but Steve could still feel the suspicious, almost accusing glare through the mess. “Looks like a decoration.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s just an air freshener. I know teenage boys stink but you guys know what that is.”

“A ghost air freshener,” Lucas said, right in his ear. Steve had half a mind to kick him out, but he’d already started driving to your house and he didn’t want to be late. “That’s for Halloween, and you hate Halloween. You always buy those dumb trees.”

“Why are you paying so much attention to my spending habits?”

“Because they’re terrible.”

Steve glared at him through the rearview mirror (the traitor). “Don’t think I won’t make you walk.”

Your house was pretty close to the Wheelers and already decked out, considering Halloween was at the end of the month and it was only October first. Fake, giant spider webs stretched up the front yard to the porch, and pumpkins and Halloween decorations dotted almost every inch. Your house looked like it was out of a cartoon about the Addams family and your outfit matched it, all black and muted colors. Your smile, though, that made Steve feel like he’d sipped pure sunshine.

You slid into the passenger seat, your designated spot (to no one’s surprise and to your complete obliviousness). “Oh a little ghost! He’s so cute! Is he for Halloween?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Dustin asked with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Is he for Halloween?”

Rock and a fucking hard place. “Uh, yeah. It looked like it would fit the vibe, you know, and it smells nice.” Which wasn’t a lie. Steve genuinely did like the way it smelled, and the thought of you smiling at him the way you were now (warm, bashful, a little endeared) made the fact that it was a ghost a good thing.

You were endeared, maybe a few shades more than that. Steve’s indifference to Halloween was a well-known fact in the merry band of nerds (their name) that he chose to hang out with. Robin still talked about the year she got him to decorate his house with one (just one!) skeleton like it was a badge of honor. Now here he was, Levi jeans and orange sweater, with a ghost dangling from his car, glancing at you with a smile as he pulled into the arcade parking lot.

Maybe Mike thought he was quieter than he was; maybe he just wanted to ruin Steve’s life specifically. Either way, the entire car heard him over the radio when he murmured, “Man you really do turn into the people you love.”

Steve flushed and turned around so fast that you would be concerned about whiplash if you weren’t replaying what Mike said over and over again. People you love. “Alright, go play your damn games.”

None of the boys said anything, Mike looking almost uncharacteristically apologetic through the window. You smiled out at Dustin and said, “I’ll meet you guys in a few minutes, okay?” You could almost feel the man beside you turn into a statue.

“Okay.” He glanced between you and Steve nervously but ultimately chose to follow Mike and Lucas, leaving the two of you staring after the arcade door as it shut beside him.

“I’m sorry he said that,” Steve said almost frantically, eyes locked on the steering wheel so he didn’t have to see whatever horrible embarrassed look was on your face. “Mike never really knows when to shut up and he’s an instigator. He’s an idiot, actually. I’m really sorry; I can take it down if you want and —“

Your hand on his bicep shocked him into silence, and when he looked up at you, you were smiling like he’d given you a gift. “I don’t want you to take it down, Stevie.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to take it down,” you repeated, “I like it. Why are you saying sorry for liking me back?”

“Because I don’t want to — pause. Did you say back?”

You laughed, and it was the best sound Steve had ever heard in his life. He wanted it bottled up for him only, the only thing sustaining him for the rest of his life. “Eddie kept saying I was really obvious.”

“He kept saying that to me too,” Steve replied. “He’s just stupid.” He wasn’t entirely sure what’s happening, but you were still looking at him. Your hand fell onto his, right on the console, and relief burst inside his chest, a cool relief like a sip of water when you were parched.

Liking him back. What the fuck?

“I don’t think either of us are much better right now.”

His hand, of its own volition but also because it knew if he didn’t do this he would never forgive himself, cupped your cheek, and he didn’t even have time to ask before you said, “yes,” and leaned in. And he was kissing you.

Steve Harrington was kissing you like he needed it to breathe, like it was the difference between him being able to keep going or crumble right then and there. Steve Harrington liked you back.

You parted, and fell back into each other once, twice, before he pulled away far enough that he could talk. He whispered, “If those kids come out here and stop me, I’ll strand them, I swear.” Your answering laugh felt like absolution.

✮⋆˙ ★⋆｡ °⋆ 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

thank you so much for reading this! i wanted to write something for the beginning of october and i've been missing steve, hence a little steve one-shot. pls let me know what you think; i'd love to hear it! feel free to like and reblog if you enjoyed this, it really does help <3

[river13245]

Why couldn't it be me (pt 2)

Warnings: cheating, crying, Platonic Love, Peter being an ass. Ned being a sweet best friend and Loki being there in the end.

Marvel Masterlist / Peter Parker Masterlist

Pt 1 Pt 3 Pt 4

The past few months had been rough, you had yet to break up with Peter even when Loki and Ned were both telling you that you should. That its the best idea, even when you knew they were right you couldn't do it. Even when Peter kept cancelling plans with you, no matter how many times you rescheduled.

Speaking of rescheduling and plans being canceled, Peter had finally made a date. He had promised to make it, and you foolishly believed him. Which is why you had been sitting in the same seat in this restaurant for the past hour. In his favorite suit of yours.

You chose the suit he loved because you thought maybe if you did then he would choose you. Maybe he would see you and start being a better boyfriend. However you began to give up with him not showing up at all. The final straw was when the waitress came around for the fifth time asking if you were okay. You politely told her everything was okay before she walked off

Tears were beginning to form in your eyes as you decided to call Peter only for it to go straight to voicemail. Standing up you pay for your meal and leave a generous tip to the waitress for her patience before you leave the building.

Once you were a good distance away from all the people you let your tears fall. Fighting through tears you find your way to the curb and sit down. Pulling your phone back out you find Ned's phone number and press on his name only for it to ring twice before its answered "y/n what's wrong? didn't you have a date tonight?"

A sob escapes your thought as you try to speak which causes Ned to speak as you hear keys in the background. "crap alright . Hey just stay on the phone with me, Ill be right there okay? Breathe in and out" He made sure to keep talking the whole time as he drove to you.

When he got there he seen you sitting on the curb and instantly got out and sat beside you wrapping his arm around you. The both of you sit in silence for a little while until you speak up "I think I want to go find him. I want to talk and hopefully resolve things and get an explanation. And I'm not going to get that unless I go to him"

"alright I'm coming with you" Ned said as if its the most normal thing in the world. He was a friend you could count on. One that would do crazy shit with you just so you didn't do it alone. Giving him a small smile you both walk to his car and get in.

As he drives he turns up the radio only for the song playing to be a song you and him both enjoy. So you both are singing along to the radio and you can feel the nerves rolling off of you for just a few minutes.

----

Once you park in front of Peters home you take a few deep breaths and close your eyes. "its now or never right?" Ned nods and rests his hand on your shoulder "ill walk you up there. You don't got to do this alone" You smile and nod "Thank you Ned"

You both get out of his car and go up to Peters door, You are about to knock when you hear laughter. It doesn't sound like Peters laughter its more high pitched and giggly. At the sound of this you almost just turn your back and leave when Ned gives you a look and you sigh before bringing your hand to the door and knocking.

About a minute of two goes by and the door opens revealing your boyfriend. However his hair is messed up and he is missing a piece of clothing. Like his shirt. He freezes like a deer in headlights. "y/n. Ned. What are you doing here?"

His voice sounds so genuine like he is actually confused and forgot about the plans that HE made. You scoff as you feel your chest tighten. "what do you mean what are we doing here? You had planed a date after weeks of cancelling. Just for you to not show up" You take a breath to calm yourself "i waited an hour and twenty minutes. I probably looked like a loser"

Peters eyes go wide and he looks at Ned hoping his "best friend" would back him up. "come on dude, you know how forgetful I get. I forgot that it was today, please believe me" He looks back at you, while Ned just shakes his head. "Peter you really screwed up. Both your friendship and your relationship"

Peter looks back at you but you look through him and see Mj standing there and that's when you walk inside and see the date the two of them were having. There was a movie playing, with snacks, blankets and pillows laid out everywhere. It looked a lot like the ones you two used to have when he made time for you.

Mj looks over at you and she looks sad. "y/n I didn't know you two were still together. He told me that the both of you had ended things a while ago. I would have never done this to you knowingly. I would have just been friends with him and nothing more"

Tears form your eyes because you know she is being truthful because there was a time when you and her had been close friends. This caused it to hurt worse, especially when you knew you couldn't hate her because she truly didn't know.

Peter walks over to you and tries to grab onto your shoulders but you move away slightly causing his hands to land on your upper arms. The tears beginning to fall down your face now as you struggle to look at him. "you said you forgot about our date tonight. The one you kept cancelling. Now I see why you couldn't ever make it" You look over at MJ

"y/n I don't know what keeps happening, I just couldn't stop and i couldn't split my time" His excuse was such a bad one that it causes you to pull away from him. His hands falling from you. "why couldn't you just love me" You ask as you meet his eyes.

What you are met with is silence, the kind of silence that makes it painfully known what he is going to say. "I don't know why I cant love you anymore. Even when I know you loved me and did everything for me..I just couldn't feel anything for you. I'm so sorry"

You nod and close your eyes while taking a deep breath. "how long" came your voice in such a quiet sad tone that had Ned walking just a little closer to you.

"what?" Peter asks

"how long have you felt this way Peter Parker" Your voice had been holding strong until he says the next words. "A year"

"oh" was the only sound you make as you look at the wall and away from him. Not being able to look at him you nod "thank you for telling me. I should go."

Ned grabs onto your hand and squeezes it softly making sure your still with him. He does this because he knows how much physical touch helps you sometimes. whether it be romantic or platonic. Ned turns to look at Peter "don't expect me to be coming around anymore. You screwed up so bad. "goodbye Parker"

----

Walking inside of your home your whole body seems to just droop as if carrying your weight is too much to bare right now. Ned gets worried when you haven't talked since Peters place. You are silent as you grab yourself a snack and get one for Ned too. If there is one thing about you its that you always took care of everyone even if you weren't feeling so great yourself. But now he wanted to take time to take care of you.

Ned walks up to you and pulls you into his arms and holds you close to him. Your head rests on his shoulder as you take a deep breath. Refusing to cry so instead you talk to him "I'm so sorry he did this to us. You were his best friend." Ned almost scoffs at how you are still worried about his own feelings and now your own.

He runs his hands up and down your back comfortingly. He notices how you aren't allowing yourself to fully fall apart and feel all the emotions you need to let out but he doesn't want to push you. "I know but what he did to you is unforgivable. I never thought he would be the type to do this"

You shrug "i guess everyone is capable." Ned holds you for a little bit longer before he walks you over to the couch and lays you down onto a pillow. As you close your eyes you speak "you can stay over if you want. Take the extra bedroom." he nods and tells you a goodnight and closes the door.

From the softness of the pillow and the headache forming against your temples you fall asleep rather quickly. Ned however pulls out his phone and texts Loki. Loki would rather people text than call him so he made sure never to call him. The only reason Ned had his number was because how close the two of you were and he also knew of the gods feelings towards you.

When Ned sends the text Loki is quick to look at it and instantly teleports there. As he stands in the middle of the living room he sees you laid down with no blanket and so he conjures up a green blanket of his he knows is your favorite and sits down while covering you up.

As they did this you end up waking up. "loki?" They nod and say in a soft voice knowing you wont remember waking up in the morning. "yes darling im here. Get comfortable and sleep, ill be here when you wake" you give him a soft smile and plave your head on their lap and instantly fall asleep under the blanket

----

When morning comes Ned walks down and sees Loki running his hands through your hair while you sleep. He smiles to himself as he tells a Loki a quiet goodbye and walks out of the house leaving the two of you there.