#anyways. enjoy freaks (affectionate)

[leverage-ot3]

hey so a little while ago but like. this specific donation on luigi mangioni’s give send go fundraiser tipped it over the $1mil threshold.

I’m well aware there are probably like a million john rogers’ out there, but this succinctly worded anti-capitalist rage-against-the-machine message paired with a very large donation most average people wouldn’t be able to afford (vs a well known writer and producer) has me feeling ,,, some things for sure

[a-neru-neru]

Wip of squad damocles bonding time. Just scars/ports left to add

[whumpy-wyrms]

i drew silas again and im really proud of it so i wanted to share it but it might be a teeny bit freaky/suggestive so its going under the cut idk here u guys go. scurries away

[jelliebeanbitch]

exploding!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[aubvrns]

you sleep so soundly, baby

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

Synopsis — You struggled to keep yourself awake to wait for Wanda, resulting to her finding you asleep on the couch. She proves how worth it she is to wait for.

Tags — Fluff (because I was happy today), Cuddling (because I am so touch deprived), Mentions of doing something more than cuddling (because I am a freak)

Note — Short, but I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You remember trying to keep your eyes open.

But the soft, white covers of your pristine blanket betrayed you as the clock struck 11:00 PM. A faint anxiety lingered as you awaited Wanda's return from her mission, eager to be close to her after a week apart.

You did everything you could to stay awake—drinking two cups of coffee, watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and scrolling through your old pictures on your phone.

Looking at those memories brought a smile to your face, even if it made you a bit emotional. You let out a heavy exhale and adjusted your position on the sofa, tucking your arms under the covers.

The last thing you remember is the thud of your phone hitting the bridge of your nose, followed by a sharp pain. But due to your extreme fatigue, you shrugged it off and fell asleep anyway.

—

“You look so freaking cute.”

You stir at the sound of someone whispering in your ear and reach for the covers, but someone else has already pulled them over you. Your head is no longer resting on the armrest of the couch; instead, it’s resting on a soft pillow.

You slowly flutter your eyes open, and familiar green eyes meet yours. The sight of her bright smile makes your heart skip a beat. As you rub my eyes, strong arms pull you closer to her warmth.

“Hey, you.”

Wanda's raspy voice brushed against your ear as her chin met your cheek, kissing your lips softly. “I missed you so much, my baby.”

Letting out a chuckle, you move yourself closer to her. Your arms wrapped around her torso as her hands lingered around your waist. You assumed she was just as tired as you and that both of you were now lying on the couch, latched onto each other.

“I don’t think I’m exactly baby-sized.”

You responded with a playful quip, causing her to burst into laughter. Without needing to think, you nestled your face into the soft curve of her neck, enveloped by the warmth of her presence. Her sweet, comforting scent of vanilla wafted around you, wrapping you in a soothing embrace that overwhelmed your senses and sent dizziness through your mind.

“You shouldn’t have waited for me. I could’ve just slipped under the covers with you the moment I got home.”

You felt her fingers gently running through your hair, a soft touch that sends shivers down your spine. Her smile feels warm and exciting as you hug, bodies fitting together perfectly.

“I wanted to wait for you. ” You mumble against her neck, placing a gentle kiss before nuzzling into her again.

Your words made her heart flutter. Wanda gazed at you with a warm, affectionate smile that lit up her entire face, her eyes sparkling with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “Go to sleep. Don’t make me love you even more than I already do.”

You roll your eyes playfully, slowly pulling yourself to sit up.

“How much do you love me?” You whisper like you were spying on someone, eyes gleaming with amusement.

You knew she loved you as much as you did. To love someone is worth the effort of pulling them from sitting to lying back with you, and that is exactly what she did.

Wanda grinned, sides of her mouth turning upwards as she sultrily whispered back, “Want me to show you how much I do?”

Oh, she’s good.

“Not really in the mood right now but okay.” You bite back, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before tucking yourself back into the comfortable blanket.

The weight of it was pressing against you, but it was to keep you warm. You knew she was worth waiting for, even if it meant the depravity of the lack of sleep.

“Boring.” Wanda pouts, kissing you back. She waves her fingers gently as she threaded red energy amongst the air, closing all the lights in your home.

The covers weren’t as heavy the moment she hugged you. Wanda made your heart race and your mind dizzy all at once.

You stare at her, the moon reflecting softly at the glint of her eyes. Whispering softly, “I hope it’s you I wait for everyday.”

Wanda hummed in response, astute to knowing that to hope for it is unnecessary. It was already certain.

“I love you, too.”

—

[monstersholygrail]

Penny for your thought...if puppy reader and wolf bf will have pups, all or half of them will inherit momma's zoomies

I freaking love thinking about when they have pups!!! Thinking about them and not smiling is an impossible challenge but thinking about them as parents makes me smile so wide my cheeks hurt!!

I can see Wolf Hybrid bf and Puppy Hybrid Reader having maybe three pups. Eldest being a girl, middle a boy, and the youngest another girl. Wolf Hybrid has a deep bond with all his kids but he gives such girl dad energy even to his son lol.

Their eldest pup is tough and chaotic like them both. Shes energetic but more so in the she’s loud and demands attention. She gives cute little snarls before she’ll charge and tackle one of her siblings to play like a battle cry. She encourages confidence and enforces anarchy despite how much she loves her parents and will cuddle so much whenever she’s tired.

Their middle pup is stoic, the strong and silent type like dad. But he’s less of a grump and kinda more reserved and shy. He worries about his sisters and looks after them a lot bc they get into more trouble than he does. But his elder sister has been getting him out of his shell more and he gives into the zoomies sometimes.

Their youngest pup is both a grump and very energetic. Shes the one who does the most zoomies out of all of them. And she’ll get very upset if she’s interrupted from them, even if it’s for her own good. She is not afraid of a challenge and does what she can to prove you wrong.

(Cute blurb below the cut hehe. Istg can’t help myself)

I imagine the youngest is running around, miraculously avoiding all of the toys and the general mess around the house. Yet your son is sitting next to Wolf Hybrid on the couch, watching his sister with worry.

“Be careful! You’re gonna get hurt!” He calls out, making the youngest immediately stop to stare at him in disbelief.

Wolf Hybrid doesn’t look up from his meal as he claps his son’s tiny shoulder. Knowing what awaits his son but wanting to give him a little boost of encouragement.

“Good boy,” he says with a natural deep-rooted pride. His love for his pups infinite even if he isn’t sure how to fully express it all the time.

But still he scooches down the couch anyways, knowing pups gotta be pups. He knows his kids like the back of his hand. So still he doesn’t look up from his meal at what happens next.

“Don’t you tell her what to do!” Your eldest yells, coming running out from thin air.

Your eldest and youngest rush in on their brother and tackle him at the same time. The three of them rolling around and play fighting on the couch as their father sits on the other end, minding his own business. Mostly.

“Good girls,” is all he says, that same pride shining through his tone. Your eldest’s growls grow louder at the encouragement and he can’t help but laugh.

You walk into the room a moment later, merely glancing at your kids causing their usual chaos. Before you can even glance down at Wold Hybrid his arm is already curling around your waist and dragging you into his lap.

“You hungry?” He asks, offering some of his meal to you. His eyes all soft, sleepy, and affectionate look at you like you’ve given him the entire world and now he just wants to dote on you every moment he can.

You happily accept as the two of you enjoy the peaceful insanity that is your family. Eventually your kids will all tire themselves out and join you both for the meal Wolf Hybrid cooked himself.

[beastyeastfreak]

I was literally just here for the fluff side of the x reader stuff but I wh-

Honestly that anon is lucky they remembered to say that anonymously, cause if they had it off dude people would've found them out.

But like.

Yeah it was gross imo (asexual so eww), but I mean. People got their own opinions I guess.

Besides, you're Freak Fairie, right? Technically I think it's in the right askbox lol.

Anyway, on a more serious note, uh uhm could I suggest an x reader who is a nervous shy bean who idolizes them?

Honestly i dont know why the freak anons chose me but yeah i guess it fits. Would love to see less nsfw asks and more asks like this ngl not that i mind writing smut XD

Cw and tags: Fluff, romantic, overall very sweet, nothing bad

Written pre silent salt update

Mystic flour

🌾 - Mystic Flour enjoys how your view of her mixes with your nervousness when shes around. She spares you for this, you were perfect in her eyes. You listened to what she had to say as if each word was a divine message and treated her with a kind of respect she had not had in a long time. For this she’ll give you a role closest to her, maybe just a personal assistant or something higher.

🌾 - She likes having you close to her, quietly watching her as she handles affairs with other beasts or turning cookies to flour. When it gets silent, and you’re staring at her when you think she doesn’t see, she’ll run her hand over the back of your head in an affectionate way. Her hand, if not in its usual position will rest on your back, watching as her mere touch makes your face turn darker.

🌾 - I like to imagine she sees you often near that one decoration, the altar of the seeker. You didn’t have to be one of her disciples praying to her but she notices you close to it quite often, anything that reminds you of her for that matter. You get startled when she approaches you, stammering as to why you were there.

🌾 - She’ll find it especially interesting if you become more confident when shes not around. Someone insulted her ideology, you immediately shut it down and take get angry they’d say that to your face. She’d mention it later, she wont let you know she saw you defending her until you’re close to her, she’ll quote your words and watch you hide your face in her shoulder.

Burning spice

🏜️ - It didn’t matter if you were a spice or a cookie from another kingdom, it was only right for you to idolize him! He was The Great Destroyer, he was a god. You seemed to be a prevalent visitor in the spice temple, or perhaps you were a consistent bystander that was always at the scene of his destruction. However he meets you, he immediately finds you interesting when you aren’t begging for mercy but fawning over him.

🏜️ - He likes to show you off and hold you close, feeling your cheeks warm and the only responses you can muster are words you stumble over. You’re timid around him, he first’s interprets it as fear of his strength as always, but he slowly realizes thats not the case. His proximity to you made you bashful, in the way someone would become shy around someone they love.

🏜️ - He likes to hold your face on one side and kiss the other side, squishing your cheeks in the process and feeling them begin to burn up as he does. He’s the most likely to smother you in kisses all over your face until you’re stiffly standing covering your eyes shyly.

🏜️ - He’ll give you clothes or accessories that match him in some way. Much like Mystic Flour he appoints you to a role to keep you close to him. He knows you’ll begin to fumble with a task when he grows near, apologizing profusely at your mistake which is why he gives you that job in the first place.

🏜️ - In some way, hes like a big body guard. He doesn’t tolerate any talk about you. Someone calls you a liability? He will have a word with them. You’re one of if not his most loyal follower, anything said about you he interprets as directed at him.

Eternal sugar

🌷 - You were an angel within her garden, another for her to care for. But she noticed how fond you were of her. For the bringer of happiness, she had to do little to please you. Just to see how deeply ingrained she was in your perception she handed you a fruit, you thanked her but as you turned it you found it was half rotted. She played it off apologetic and unknowing but you thanked her regardless, she had to stop you from eating rotten fruit.

🌷 - She’ll lean against you as you’re sitting together, she feels you flinch but slowly lean into her as well. She doesn’t mind your nervousness at all, she knows that not all flowers bloom but even still they exist and should be loved. She’ll tell you that as you shy away from her. Your nature was to be bashful, but in your heart your desire was her presence.

🌷 - She savors how you look at her, how one would admire a brightly shimmering star. She was your star… She liked that, she liked you. Pavlova cookie seemed to like that idea too, buzzing around her head all dream like, he didn’t even have to shoot his arrow!

🌷 - She adores being close to you because you’re always conflicted. She’ll place her hands on your waist while whispering affection and your hands will hover in place, conflicted where they should go, if you were allowed to touch such a being? She’ll giggle, moving your hands for you and kissing you, telling you she wants you to see her as a cookie, and to shed her titles when she speaks to you.

Shadow milk

🃏 - He doesn’t use the term “Number one fan” lightly, but when he saw a reoccurring face in his crowd every one of his shows, when he saw your face light up every time he took the stage, he knew that it was you. You didn’t ask for an autograph though strangely, he actually watched you hesitate before walking off. You were shy! Awwww, he’d have to come to you it seems.

🃏 - He pretended to bump into you after another show, he turned around and expected you to try and talk to him but instead you stared like a statue before muttering an apology with wide eyes and walking away. He floated after you, playing you like a deck of cards. You showed up to his shows so often, would you want a behind the scenes. Then he had you, and it was pretty easy from then to court you.

🃏 - You always get a VIP seat anytime he preforms, he calls most things he does performances, especially fighting. So anytime something is about to go down you’re always placed on some high area where you can watch him best, occasionally winking at you causing you to blush. After he’s done he’ll come to you, how did he do? He knows what you’ll say before you say it.

🃏 - One time he tries to incorporate you into a surprise performance as a sort of gift, he failed to factor your nervousness in. You were a great actor, if the role was a plank of shaky wood. He doesn’t make fun of you though, he discreetly had one of his minions pull you off stage and continued on.

🃏 - I like to imagine he kisses you as good luck before he does anything. Its almost like saying break a leg or some other theater superstitions. Whether he does this because something bad actually happened when he didn’t, or he’s just making up reasons to fluster you who knows.

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 30

Word Count- 3.7k

Warnings- Swearing, violence, blood, puking

“Up and down, not side to side you fucking freak,” Theo’s agitated voice comes from behind Elena and I as he and Jeremy paint their side of the room.

“That’s what I’m doing!”

Elena chuckles at Jeremy’s response.

“Going darker, huh?”

As if today couldn’t get any worse.

I don’t even turn around because right now I’m not in the mental state to deal with yet another vampire I have a vendetta against. Which means my vampire hate count is up to 4 right now, not including dead vampires such as Mikael and Trevor. 

“It’s the only color we had,” Elena says to Stefan with a smile, and I roll my eyes.

“That’s what happens when you decide to paint your guardian’s room that she shared with her now-dead boyfriend in the middle of the night,” Jeremy retorts and slightly glares at his sister.

I turn over to look at Theo, who is glaring at Stefan, who, as I glance at him, tries to give me a small smile, which I don’t return.  

“I don’t suppose anyone tried to talk you guys out of doing this so soon?”

“We have to keep moving, otherwise we’ll start thinking and we don’t want that…”

My birthmark feels like it’s burning as I listen to Elena’s words, and I rub it in reaction. 

“You good?’’

I jolt back slightly as I turn to see Theo right next to me now. He takes his hand and places it on mine, removing it from rubbing my mark.

“We’re not thinking about it, right?”

Theo sends me a saddened look, but Elena wraps an arm around my waist.

“That’s exactly right. Today we’re just existing. No bad thoughts, just painting and enjoying each other’s company. We’ve all been away from each other for too long.”

I give Elena a raised eyebrow, which results in her lightly pinching my waist and then dropping her hand and going back to her painting. 

She’s been like this since we got to the Gilbert residence last night, overly touchy and affectionate. I know it’s because she’s just trying to fill her time with something else instead of thinking about Alaric, but, holy shit, I forgot how touchy this girl was. For the first few hours we got back, we spent in her room with Jenna watching comedy movies and horror movies to distract ourselves from the actual horror movie we are currently living in. That entire time, I also spent dodging calls and texts from Klaus and Elijah. At one point, Klaus even showed up at the front door, and Theo had to go down and threaten to spray him with the hose if he didn’t leave. Rebekah had called me and apoligized for what happened, mentioning how she had no idea what my birth mark meant and that if she wasn’t body snatched by her own mother she would’ve been there to kick her older brother’s asses. 

“Do you need any help?”

I roll my eyes at Stefan’s question.

“You know how to pant?”

I turn to my brother, wondering why he’s making conversation with a guy he hates.

Stefan perks up, “Ya, I guess it’s not hard.”

Theo taps his chin, “Huh, and here I thought all you knew was how to run girls off the road in your ugly ass Prius,” Theo turns to Jeremy, who wears a smirk, “The more you know!”

For the first time all day, I feel a small smile twitch onto my face.

Stefan’s face morphs into one of shame, “It’s actually a Poshe…and Y/n, I-”

Theo moves in front of him, “You no talk to her- Got it,” He points a finger at the vampire's face.”

Stefan sighs but still nods. 

“Anyways,” Jeremy interrupts, “Are you two together or something?”

The question is aimed at Stefan and his sister, who both instantly start shaking their heads and deny it. 

“I was just checking up on you guys. Seeing how you were doing…after everything.”

Jeremy glares at him, “We’re fine. But if you are trying to be the good guy again, why don’t you do the right thing and give us one day? Just one day without any vampires in it.”

“That sounds nice,” I mutter to myself. 

Jeremy huffs and then storms out of the room, Theo of course following after, but not before making an “I’m watching you” finger motion to Stefan.

“He didn’t mean that,” Elena says to Stefan.

“Ya, he did,” I reply, and Elena shorts me a look, and I shrug before putting down my paintbrush and following after the boys. 

“Y/n?”

My shoulders deflate at Stefan’s voice, but I still pause.

“I am really sorry. What I did on the bridge…and what I said after it wasn’t me. It wasn’t how I truly feel. And I know you won’t forgive me today, but hopefully one day we can get back to where we once were in our friendship.”

I look over my shoulder at him and nod, a look of relief pushes onto his face momentarily...that is until I open my mouth. 

“Any chance of us ever being friends died the night you tried killing me and then called me a waste of space, but thanks for the apology. It means nothing.”

With that, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head down the hall, I hear Elena’s quiet voice say something about giving me time and how I’m going through a lot right now. 

Understatement of the fucking centuary. 

Not only did I find out I’m a goddamn werewolf yesterday, watch my history teacher die because of a bitchass witch, find out my soulmates have been lying to me the entire time I’ve known them…I also had to tell everyone the fact that my father wasn’t actually my father and that Theo and I are actually half-siblings. So that cat is out of its bag. 

“Kol wants to come over and play Modern Warfare,” I hear Theo’s voice come from Jeremy’s room. 

After the conversation Elena and I had about our brothers yesterday, I’ve been watching how they interact more closely. So like any nosy sister, I hide beside Jeremy’s door and listen to their conversation. Sue me. 

“You do realize he tried to kill me, right?”

“Kol didn’t try to kill you…he tried to kill Damon. And honestly, y'all should’ve let him. The world would be a much better place without him in it.”

Jeremy’s quiet for a moment.

“Ya, you’re probably right. But…”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I just…wanted to hang out with you…y’know, just me and you. Like old times or whatever.”

My face softens at Jeremy’s nervous voice.

“Oh..”

Seriously, Theo, “OH”.

“Oh?”

“I don’t mean Oh,” Theo quickly says, “Not like Oh Oh, but just like Oh. Y’know?”

This dumbass.

“Not really, Theo.”

“Right…well, what I mean is that I’m cool with just us, y’know, hanging out like bros do.”

“Ok…cool.”

“Cool…”

I hate these two. Jesus Christ. 

“Y/n?”

Oh shit!

I just slightly and see Jenna approaching me. Her tear-ridden face and red, puffy eyes send a tight pain to my heart. 

I move away from Jeremy’s door so they don’t hear us.

“Hey, Jen. I thought you were napping in Elena’s room?”

Jenna swallows a lump in her throat and tightens the blanket she has wrapped around her, “I just needed some fresh air.”

I nod, trying not to be awkward, but I’ve never been one to know how to console others.

“Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something?’’

I frown at Jenna’s words, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you these questions?”

Jenna huffs out a sad laugh, “Ya probably, I just…I guess I could use the distraction.”

Oh.

“Ok, then I guess I could eat if you are also making yourself something.”

“I’m not hungry,” She tries to deny, and I shake my head.

“I’m not eating unless you do too.”

Jenna reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, “Fine. Then how does waffles sound?”

“Wait, did someone say waffles?”

I whip around to see Theo with his head poking out of Jeremy’s room and the other boy peeking behind my brother.

“Yes, I was going to make your sister and me some. Do you both want any,” Jenna responds.

Both boys eye each other before nodding and practically hopping out of the bedroom. Theo moves over to Jenna and wraps his arm around her shoulder, to which Jenna gives him a small smile, the first one I’ve seen from her all night. Theo just has that kind of power. 

“I personally prefer mine with brown sugar, but if you guys don’t have that, I can make do with…” 

Theo continues to drone on about waffle mix as he drags Jenna and Jeremy down the staircase, with me following behind. 

I make it to the final step when the doorbell chimes. 

“I’ve got it,” I say to the group, and they continue their way into the kitchen.

I grab the door handle and- oh shit.

“We’ve got a problem,” Damon says as he holds a bleeding Bonnie to his side. 

—-

“What do you think they’re talking about?’’

I shrug as I dip my paintbrush into the green paint. 

“Beats me.”

After I opened the door to find Damon and Bonnie, Stefan came downstairs to let me know he could handle it, and I don’t exactly want to deal with any vampires today, so I let him and went back upstairs to help Elena. 

The sound of a phone ringing turns my attention to Elena. I watch as a look of confusion morphs onto her face as she reads the caller's info.

“Elena, who is it,” I stand up, and my breathing halts as I read the caller's name.

Alaric. 

“That’s fucking sick.”

Elena shakes her head and presses the answer button, “Whoever this is, it’s not funny.”

“Who else would it be?”

No way. Not possible. 

At the sound of the supposedly dead Alaric’s voice, Elena and I both shoot each other fearful looks. 

“Listen closely, I’m at the school. I have Caroline, and if you want to keep her alive, I need you to get into your car and come down here…and bring Y/n with you, I know she’s with you. If you tell anyone where you are going, I will kill her.”

—

“Never thought I’d get murdered by my history teacher, but here we are,” I mutter to myself and Elena as we stand at the entrance of Mystic Falls High.  

“He’s not going to kill you, Y/n. I won’t let him.”

“As much as I appreciate the effect, Elena, but well…he’s kind of an Original so and you’re well… you.”

I look at Elena, who sighs in defeat.

“We got this, together,” She grabs my hand and sends me a look, and at this point, I’m so numb that I just laugh.

“Right, let’s go defeat the big bad Original with the power of friendship!”

—

The sound of painful groans makes me cringe as Elena and I run down the hallway to find a very undead Ric sitting all-American Psycho in his classroom. Caroline has a cloth wrapped around her face to keep her from talking, and oh… two pencils impaled into her hands. 

“Let her go, Alaric,” Elena says the the man. 

He smirks at us, “Free her yourself.”

“Oh ya, I’m sure he’s going to let you do that,” I say sarcastically, but Elena still runs to Caroline and tries to pull the pencils from her hands. 

As Elena is about to pull out the pencil Alaric speeds over to them and shoves the pencil back in, making me take a protective step forward even though there aint shit I can do.

“What have I told you, Elena? Stop trusting vampires!”

—

I watch with a painful look as Alaric dips Caroline’s gag into a glass of vervain. Her cries fill the room, and I find myself abruptly standing up to help her.

“Stop, Ric!”

But before I can get over to my friend, a sharp pain hits the side of my face, and then I feel myself bang the edge of my head off one of the student desks. 

Through a loud ringing in my head, I hear Elena yell and a muffled cry from Caroline. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n. I truly don’t. But you must understand what you mean in all of this. So sit down and shut up,” He leans down to my level on the floor, and I flinch as I catch a glimpse of his fangs. 

He stands up and then pauses. He proceeds to sniff the air and then glare down at me, “You should probably clean that up. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out…just yet.”

The ringing still hasn’t subsided, so I’m still incredibly confused…until a wet feeling falls down my face. I bring my fingers up and swallow a throatful of bile as I see my fingers covered in blood. 

Deja vu much?

—

“Why are you doing this?”

Elena’s angry voice asks Alaric as he paces the small classroom. 

Elena runs a hand up and down my back soothingly as I lay my pounding head on the cool desk. Over the past 15 minutes, I’ve tried to keep up with the back-and-forth arguing between the Original and my friend, but I’m just really tired. 

“Because you need me. Because you’re an 18-year-old girl, without parents or guidance or any sense of right and wrong anymore,” Alaric harshly says. 

“She’s got Jenna,” I softly say as my eyes flutter closed. 

“Keep your eyes open, Y/n.”

I groan in annoyance at her request, but with enough resilience, I peel open one eye to glance at her, which seems to relieve Elena. 

“Look at you,” Elena then turns to Alaric, “How is this right,” She gestures to Caroline and then to me.

“She’s a murderer. She told me she killed someone and liked it. Now, how is that right? And her,” He points to me and I use whatever strength I can muster to lift my hand up and show him my middle finger, “It’s only a matter of time before she starts murdering people just like the people she’s mated to,” He walks over to Elena,  “Listen, Elena, your parents led the council. It was their life's mission to keep this town safe. They weren’t dead six months before you went and undid it all.”

Elena, I think, goes on to deny him, and they argue some more, I think. I’m not exactly paying attention. Fuck, I need advil. Or vodka. Or both. 

A loud scream makes me open my eyes, eyes I hadn’t even realized I had closed.

“Take Y/n and get help!”

Who’s taking me?

I groan in pain as I feel strong arms wrap around me, and next thing I know, I’m being dragged out of the room. I try to struggle out of their hold.

“Y/n, it’s me, stop.”

Oh. Care. Never mind, take me away.

Caroline drags me some more before we stop. 

A hand pressing to my mouth makes me jolt, but the overwhelming smell of something woodsy makes me relax. 

Klaus. 

“I’ve got you, my love. I’m not going to get to you. You’re safe,” I find myself leaning into his touch and I almost fucking moan when he runs a warm hand down my face. 

“We’re going to save Elena,” His voice is no longer soft, and I look to see him staring at Caroline, “Get her and yourself out of here.”

We?

I fast movement catches my eye, and I see Elijah standing a few feet away from us, his eyes running over my body frantically, he’s surprisingly not in a suit. Or maybe he is, and my head injury is just so bad I’m imagining things. 

“Come on, Y/n,” I feel a tug and groan in annoyance.

“We’ll be coming out right after you, Elskan,” Elijah’s dark voice fills my ears, and I close my eyes as if to savor it.

“Take her and heal her.”

—

I’m going to barf. 

A wave of nausea flows over me as a blinding light hits my eyes. 

“She’s coming back now,” An old scratchy voice says from above me.

God?

“No dear, not God,” The voice says.

Am I saying things out loud?

“Yes, you are,” A younger voice chimes in.

I let out a groan as I peel open my eyes slowly, and take notice of the blurry figures in front of me.

“Go slow, Elskan,” A warm voice fills my senses, and I find myself giggling. 

“Such a pretty voice.”

A loud laugh makes me cringe in pain, and then I hear a yelp.

My vision finally starts to come together, and I can make out an old woman sitting above me, Elijah standing beside her, and Kol and Alastiar standing farther away. 

I go to sit up, but the old woman, presses her hands to my shoulders, “Easy, young lady. You took quite the spill. Just lie back.”

“What…who…”

Ya, I’m definitely going to barf.

“Ew, someone get it a bucket.”

“Kol,” I hear Elijah’s stern voice.

“Fine.”

A split second later, Kol returns with a blue bucket and puts it in front of me with a grossed out look. 

And another split second later, I’m pushing the old woman out of the way and I’m barfing into the small bucket, or at least trying to aim for the bucket. 

I feel a hand rub my back soothingly, and then I feel my hair being pulled away from my face, “That’s it, Elskan.”

—

I then proceeded to throw up for the next five minutes. Kol left 2 minutes in with a gag of his own. Alastair still stands by the door with a solemn expression, the old woman has been doing whatever old people do, and Elijah has not left my side.

For the past five minutes, he’s been holding my hair, whispering soothing words to me, and just being so kind, it almost makes me forget I hate him. 

Almost. 

“What the hell happened?”

Elijah grabs a tissue from the side table of the bed I’m currently lying in and wipes my mouth. I try to grab it from him but he won’t budge. 

“Alaric took you and…” He pauses as his jaw tightens and he grits his teeth, “You hit your head. Your blonde vampire friend healed you, but you remained unconscious, so I called in a nurse to come look over you.”

“You must’ve had a nasty spill,” The woman says, and I realize from the glazed-over look in her eyes that she must be compelled, “I stuck an IV into you to get some fluids into you.”

My eyes look down towards my arm, and like she said, a small IV is implanted. Its tube is connected to a walkable IV stand, which is next to my head. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? That is all you have to say,” Elijah’s tone is slightly harsher than before as he shakes his head.

“Your work here is done,” He turns to the woman, “Go home and forget this happened. A check will be sent to you.”

The woman then grabs her bag and leaves the room, leaving only Alastair, Elijah, and me. 

“You are dismissed as well, Alastair.”

“I’m fine right here, Sir,” Alastair says, not taking his eyes off me. 

Elijah turns over his shoulder to glare at the younger vampire.

“He’s fine, Elijah. I want him here.”

“We need to talk,” Elijah tries to argue.

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of him,” I try to glare at him, but too much movement is making me nauseous. 

Elijah must take notice because he instantly loses the dark facial features and places a cool hand on my face. 

He’s like a fucking ice pack.

“We can talk when you’re better,” He says softly and leans forward to place a kiss on the top of my head. 

A thought quickly crosses my mind, and I straighten up, “Where’s Elena?”

A grim look passes over Elijah’s face, “The Salvatores and Klaus are still at the school fighting Alaric. Niklaus and I thought it was best if I made sure you got to safety before anything else. But, they’ve got a plan to help her, so just sit back and get some rest.”

“Will you stay with me,” I say through a yawn.

Elijah gives me a soft smile, “Of course.”

I shake my head, “I was talking to Alastair.”

—

“AHHHHHH!”

A sharp pain flies through my body, and I quickly sit up.

“Y/n, what is it!? What’s going on?!”

I stare wide-eyed at Alastiar, who is nearly by my bedside, watching me frantically. 

I clutch my chest, “I…I can’t…”

“Can’t what?!?”

“Breathe, I can’t breathe!”

A loud crash fills the house, and Alastiar quickly takes a defensive stance in front of me. Alastair stares at the door like a guard dog, ready for attack in case someone walks in. I grabbed his hand for support, and he clutched it in his. 

“Just try to take deep breaths, Y/n. I’m sure one of the Mikaelsons will figure this out.”

The door handle jiggling catches our attention, and Alastair takes a defensive step forward, dropping my hand. 

 “Y/n?’’

If I could sigh in relief, I would as I see Elena pull herself into the room. She holds herself on the door frame and I frown as I see Damon standing behind her with s solem look on his face.

“What’s happening?”

—-

I clutch my knees to my chest as Theo sits wordlessly at the end of my bed. 

We’ve been sitting like this for 2 hours, or at least since he drove me home from the Mikaelsons. 

“What’s going to happen?”

I don’t respond to my brother. 

“Y/n?”

“Y/n?!”

I glance up at my brother. 

“Klaus is gone. There’s nothing to do.”

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 4: The Loneliest

CHAPTER SUMMARY:  The end of the Americas triple header brings chaos, scandal, and conflict to your relationship with Franco. And after an unforgivable betrayal, your friendship may be beyond saving.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

WARNINGS: SO MUCH ANGST, reader is going through it, Franco is mean and lowkey kinkshames reader :( also Franco is a lil freak at the end so SMUT MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS YA FREAKS (affectionate). The long awaited chapter 4 is here! So sorry to dampen your holidays with this very sad chapter, but thank you all for being so patient with me while I was away. I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter as a reward for your patience!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

You’ll be the saddest part of me

The part of me that will never be mine

It’s obvious, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You’re still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It’s torturous, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The morning light was torturous. It signaled the end of Franco’s short lived unconscious peace, and the breaking of the dawn forced him to confront the fact that it was race day. He hadn’t slept well. It had been one hell of a night.

One glance to the curtained window showed that the morning light was quickly going to be shrouded by rain clouds anyway. 

But despite his tiredness, he got up. If he had laid there too long he would have started thinking too much. About the race. About what was at stake.

About you.

He didn’t have time for that. He pushed that mixed jump pile of emotions—what exactly they were, he couldn’t name—down to the pit of his stomach as he quickly showered and gathered his things so he could get to the circuit quickly.

But even in the shower, as he tried to wash the memories of last night away, he couldn’t. His own nakedness didn’t even seem to be his, not anymore. The words you had written, imagining every inch of skin, stuck to him.

A wave of nausea hit him, and he felt like he was going to puke.

And it didn’t get any better as he dressed and gathered his things. There was a journal shaped space in his bag now, hollow without the evidence of his deception. He had kept it on him always to avoid you finding out. But now, it didn’t matter. He knew every word. Even if you did discover what he’d done, he had crossed a point of no return.

The journal itself still lay open at the foot of his bed. Had he fallen asleep after reading it, or just not had the energy to return it to its spot after feeling the shockwaves of the words? He didn’t remember.

All he knew was that his head was pounding. His entire body felt disconnected from the mind that governed it. It was too damn early, and too important of a day to be distracted like this. 

But it was all his fault. No one had forced him to read it. No—he had decided, of his own volition, to steal the journal. When you ran out of his room with tears in your eyes and ignored his calls for you down the hallway, he had glanced at the open journal, teasing him to commit this unforgivable offence. He ignored it then, leaving his room, but when he returned that night the temptation had become nearly too much to bear. So yes, just as you had accused him, he did steal the journal that morning before you arrived at the track. And he’d lied to your face about it. 

And you believed him. 

That didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting to the track and doing his job, showing everyone that he could do what he said he’d do. He had talked a big game—now was time to deliver.

So when he didn’t respond to your text that morning, you let it go. You knew how important of a day this was to him. Even though he never divulged the contents of his meeting to you, you had known him too long to not be able to assume that the stakes were much higher than anyone had originally thought. 

Why else would he be so standoffish when you finally saw him at the paddock that morning, brushing you off and quickly leaving? Why else would he not speak a single word to you the morning before qualifying? 

At first, the tonal change from last night—dancing in the pit lane and nearly meeting lips to a morning of being ignored—was shocking to you. But you knew Franco. And he had promised that you’d always have a place next to him. Maybe not this particular morning, when all he needed to do was perform. But always. And you trusted him.

So you let the transgression roll off you like the rain that continued into the morning. You took your usual spot at the back of the garage to avoid the ever present watching eye of the media cameras. After last night's stunt, you knew the world would be watching both you and Franco. You weren’t very keen to give the media what they wanted, knowing every gesture or word would inevitably be scrutinized. The fans, though, had been kind so far. 

All the things that they had said—we’re rooting for you—had hit you like a ton of bricks last night, alone in your room. You, too, had been unable to sleep. 

It was the effect of the ever-present possibility of what could be. You wanted Franco. All of him. His body, yes, but also his mind and his heart. You were in love with him, without a doubt, and since admitting it to yourself only a few weeks ago, you had fallen hard and fast. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t yours. He had a goal to work towards, and it wasn’t you.

But maybe one day it could be. Maybe when all of this was done, you’d still have him. That’s what he promised.

And for once, you’d allowed yourself to really and truly trust him.

You glanced at the screen that showed him sitting in his car before quali. His back was to you, and it felt odd to see him like this, so disconnected, as if you were just another fan rooting on your favorite athlete. 

Sure, he was your favorite athlete too, but he was also your best friend. 

You wanted so desperately to trust those words he spoke when he held you as you cried. You wanted to believe that his job would never come before you. So when those familiar insecurities rose in your throat like bile, you swallowed them down and forced a smile to your lips.

If the people were watching you, you’d give them a show. And if Franco had to perform today, so would you. 

So you let that sparkle come to your eyes when the fans with paddock passes strolled in and out in front of the garage, straining their necks to catch a glimpse of Franco in his car, and you in the background. 

Until it was time for quali. You had wanted to wish Franco good luck, but he had been so laser focused talking with his race engineers and fiddling with the car that you settled for whispering a silent prayer as he expertly rolled his car onto the track. 

You were always nervous for him. Even when the stakes were much lower, you knew the skill it took for him to do this job, and how dangerous it was. And on days like these, where the rain just kept coming and coming in sheets, you couldn’t help but let your anxiety win, knowing that anything could go wrong. 

But Franco was talented, and focused. He would be okay, and he’d exceed everyone’s expectations. You had to believe that right now, on track, all that was on his mind was becoming one with the road.

Unfortunately, Franco couldn’t focus as well as he needed to. His mind wandered, of course, to you. He had brushed you off earlier, unable to look you in the eye after what he’d read. 

Maybe, if there had been more time, he would have figured out what he was feeling. But he had chosen the worst possible night to do what he had done. Maybe his manager was right, he was distracted, and now he had to live with the consequences.

Or maybe, if he had been a better man, he wouldn’t have read it in the first place.

Regardless, he had, and even now, when he needed to focus, the emotions swelled up in him, coming in waves.

The first was shock. He read each sentence carefully, over and over again, praying that something had gotten lost in translation and you weren’t really saying what he thought you were saying. The second was disgust—how could his best friend write such detailed fantasies about him?

The third wave, the one he tried to ignore, was something he couldn’t name. A pool of warmth that settled at the bottom of his stomach as he read each filthy word, and the inevitable vision of the scenes he couldn’t help but imagine. He could feel his blood pulse through his veins as he let his mind give in to everything your words had commanded him to picture.

But the fourth wave came quicker, pushing down whatever the third had been. It was anger. Anger at himself for betraying you like this. Anger at you for writing all this and hiding it from him. Anger at life for putting him in this situation. Anger at his manager because she was right—he was distracted. 

He had been driving completely by muscle memory, even going silent with his race engineers. They angrily instructed him to return to the garage. 

He obeyed, apologizing to them for being so caught up in his own thoughts. But as he pulled the car into the garage and sat, he couldn’t help but let his eye wander the garage to you, standing towards the back as always, hands over the race headphones that they gave all the VIP guests so they could listen in on the actions. 

You looked so innocent. His best friend, just cheering him on from the sidelines, so blissfully unaware of what he had done. But what you’d done, too—the pages full to the margins of your fantasies—well, no one was truly innocent here, it seemed.

You looked up and gave him a reassuring smile, and he felt like he was going to lose it. 

He darted his eyes away, and thankfully, the race engineers cleared him to quickly return to the track. He would one last clean lap to finish off Q1, then return to the garage for Q2. 

But he couldn’t get your smile out of his head, even when he coasted through turn one. And that familiar queasiness returned in his stomach as he approached turn two.

The rain, and his distractedness, was too much to overcome. He spun and eventually hit the wall.

Back in the garage, you couldn’t breathe. The seconds of silence from his end of the radio felt like years as you waited to hear that he was okay.

All he let out was a sad, “Sorry mate,” to his engineer. But to even hear his voice was a blessing.

He eventually confirmed he was okay and made his return to the garage. His head hung low, weighed down by the expectations he had failed to fulfill. As his best friend, you wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to hold him and assure him that everything would be okay. But he didn’t even look at you. 

Turning his back away from you, he just stood solemnly as he removed his helmet and fluffed up his hair, before leaving to go speak with the media. 

As his car was wheeled into the garage, you thanked whatever God was listening to you that Franco had made it back to the paddock in one piece. The carnage was bad—and with the grand prix in only a few hours, the mechanics would have their work cut out for them. 

The garage was soon becoming too chaotic for your liking, so you slipped out to make your way to Williams hospitality to hopefully catch your best friend once he left the media tent. 

But Franco never appeared. You assumed he had been dragged from meeting to meeting, trying to salvage what was left of this clusterfuck of a grand prix weekend. You watched qualifying from the screens in hospitality, wincing when Alex crashed too, and offering another prayer for the sanity of the poor William’s mechanics.

The rain only worsened into the afternoon, when the Grand Prix would have to take place even despite the monsoon that raged outside. You still hadn’t found Franco; you occupied your time by chatting with the fans that were now drenched in the general admission sections. They at least were trying to salvage some joy from the weekend, and you were too.

But it bothered you that you couldn’t find Franco, and that he had been avoiding you all day. It was an odd juxtaposition; on one hand, you had become so comfortable in the space of the race circuit that you no longer hid from the people, but sought them out, taking photos and cheering along with Franco’s many fans. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck that something between you and Franco was wrong. But your anxiety had lied to you so many times that you no longer trusted your intuition. 

So, again, you tried to shake it off. It was going to be okay. Franco was going to focus and bounce back and get points. And when he did, he’d pick you up and spin you like he always did. And his beautiful smile would be yours again. 

When it came time to return to the garage to get ready for the race, you were hopeful but nervous, your emotions a delicate balancing act of steadying your fear with your desire to support the man you loved. 

As you entered the garage, you saw him, fiddling with the cuffs of his fireproof race suit, clearly annoyed by the scrunched lines in his forehead. And then, his eyes traveled up to meet yours.

It was like time froze. You had two options: do as you usually would and go up to him and wish him luck with a hug that was too close and too long to be strictly platonic. Or, ignore him and just silently wish him luck, praying that at the end of the race, he’d come running to you as he always did. 

You didn’t get to decide, though. Franco’s eyes darted away as quickly as he could move them, a subtle expression of disgust replacing his former frustration.

It felt like a knife to your heart. You slipped on your race headphones in silence. 

He’s just having a bad day. He’s stressed. He wasn’t even looking at you. He did it without thinking. A million thoughts ran through your head, faster than the F1 car that you now watched Franco climb into, readying himself for the race. 

You couldn’t look away from him, but he couldn’t even look at you. 

All you wanted to do was go back to the hotel and cry. You’d always been too sensitive, people had said, and that was part of the reason you started suppressing your emotions in the first place. But since you’d started your healing journey with your journal, you couldn’t stop the emotions anymore. The blush, the tears—all of it was beyond you, now. 

At least, if you cried, the rain would hide it.

That’s what you told yourself as you watched his car roll into the pit lane and onto the track. You prayed to whatever God was listening that Franco would be okay.

But it seems no God was listening to you that day. 

It started almost comically, with Lance Stroll crashing into the gravel on the formation lap. A miscommunication between the FIA and the drivers caused confusion on when the race would actually begin. And when the race finally did begin, it was nothing but chaos.

You held your breath during the first spin. It was Nico Hulkenburg, not Franco. Thankfully. Everyone was okay.

You counted the laps in your head, like you’d counted Franco’s breath when he would fall asleep in your apartment during your many past sleepovers. Like you’d counted his breaths when you woke up next to him in Singapore. 

Lap 32. He was okay. 

In your ears, you heard his race engineer warning him of the wet conditions, advising him to take extra caution with all the water on the track. 

Franco asked to box for wet tires. His engineer refused. He told Franco to survive.

A wave of anger rose in you. Is surviving not exactly what he was already doing?

Franco pushed back, asking if the engineer understood what he was saying. And again, he refused. An argument back and forth. Trust us, the engineer said. 

And then, he crashed.

A hard hit on the wall and a skid across the wet road. 

You felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Everything was spinning.

The only thing that brought you back down to Earth was his voice in your ears. “I’m okay. I’m so sorry, guys,” he apologized.

In the aftermath of it all, you’d feel sorry for the William’s mechanics. But right now all you cared about was the man you loved and if he was really okay.

You didn’t care that he had been upset with you, for whatever reason beyond your knowledge. All you cared about was that he was alive and unharmed.

Your only want was to run to his arms, feel the warmth of his beating heart against your chest, assuring you that he was okay.

But he stomped into the garage and walked right past you, as if you didn’t even exist to him, like you were an invisible burden.

Your heart was pounding as if you were the one who had crashed. You watched as Franco disappeared into the paddock, likely heading to quickly speak to the media before sneaking off to God knows where.

Again, your mind went to the familiar choice, whether to go to him or hang back. But you’d been hanging back too much. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You followed in his general direction, but the paddock was buzzing with reporters and team officials. You scanned the crowd for the familiar curls of your favorite Argentine, but to no avail; the frustration threatened to bring tears to your eyes. 

Until you saw him darting through the crowd, nearly as fast as his own car, rushing to get away from all the people with their eyes on him. You had become one of them.

You navigated your way to the crowd and back to his driver’s room, waiting until you and Franco were out of the crowd to call to him.

“Franco!” you yelled, “Franco, wait up.”

“Go away, YN.”

That familiar stab in your stomach pulsed again. “Franco, I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

He reached his room and slammed the door shut, locked it behind him. You sighed.

“Please, let me in,” you practically begged. He was silent on the other side of the door.

He had never shut you out like this before—literally or figuratively. You felt the tears begin to pool. With a shaky voice, you began, “Franco, I’m your friend. I just want to support you and be here for you when things go wrong. You’ve been ignoring me all day, and I’m just worried about you.”

His silence continued, and the quivers in your voice became more intense. 

“If you want space, I’ll give it to you. But don’t shut me out forever. I want to be here for you. I… I care about you.”

Your heart beat with the near Freudian slip you had said. You were so close to saying I love you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t said it before; you were best friends, after all, but the shift in the nature of your relationship had made the words take on a new meaning. You couldn’t say it now.

It seemed as if nothing you could say would have any effect, judging by the silence on the other side of the door. You had just turned to begin walking away when you heard the click of Franco unlocking the door. 

You knew it was a silent invitation to enter. And when he carefully opened the door, just wide enough for you to enter but not enough so that anyone else could see, you saw the redness in his cheeks and the puffiness in his eyes indicating that he, too, had been crying.

It broke your heart. 

You entered and locked the door behind you, instantly enveloping your best friend in a warm embrace. You wanted no distractions—just you, the man you loved, and the silence of the room that was only broken by your collective cries.

All you could do was hold him close, burying your face in his neck, relishing the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the race and the familiar smell of the garage—mechanical, yet somehow like home to you now. 

“I ruined everything,” he sobbed into your shoulder. The statement was cliche, but by the strength of his sobs, you knew he felt it was true.

“You don’t know that,” you reassured him. “So many other driver’s have crashed today. It’s a mess out there. You did the best you could.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’ve fucked it all up. I’ve ruined it. I let everyone down.”

He clearly wasn’t in a state to be reasoned with, and you knew that wasn’t the best thing right now anyway. He just needed someone to be with him. 

“It’s going to be okay. I promise it will.” That, and a warm body pressed to his, was all you could give him.

But the thoughts cascading through his brain were much darker. He really had ruined everything. Yes, his crashes would likely lose him the Redbull seat. But what he really ruined was his relationship with you.

He had done the unforgivable, crossed the line that he couldn’t return from. Everything between you two would be different now, especially when you found out what he had done.

Part of him wanted to lie and act as if it had never happened. You never wrote those words, he never read them, and everything would go on as normal.

But he knew he couldn’t. It had only been a day and the guilt was eating him alive. And now, he had ruined his chance at securing his future.

Still, in the bottom of his stomach was again that jumbled feeling he couldn’t quite name—something like anger, or disgust, something… vile. His manager was right. You had become a distraction, through no action of your own. But the filthy thoughts that went through your head at the sight of him, all which you’d written down and he’d read… it excited and repulsed him all at once.

And these emotions all ran through him as he sobbed in your arms, a quiet solace from the world. Things were broken now.

But in this moment, Franco could act as if none of that was true. He broke the embrace and finally looked you in the eyes.

Your stomach turned with butterflies. He was so beautiful, even with his puffy bloodshot eyes and gentle blush dancing across his cheeks.

And as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, he gently cupped your chin, bringing your face to his, and kissed you.

The kiss was slow and tentative, soft, like you were something fragile. And this moment was fragile, evidenced by the silent peace between you when the kiss ended and you pulled away, staring at each other. 

Franco was about to go in for another when his manager knocked on the door. 

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, and the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. He wordlessly got up and left with her, leaving you alone in his driver’s room.

You were scared of what would happen when he returned, so you spent the rest of the day in Williams hospitality before leaving the track alone.

You never saw Franco again at the track, but you figured he was in deep shit for his crashes, and that you should keep your distance. But sitting in hospitality, your mind in the clouds as you heard the celebrations of Max Verstappen’s win in the distance, you were haunted by the feeling of Franco’s lips on yours.

It was soft, caring, full of… no. You couldn’t say it. 

You felt like there was a stone in your throat. You needed Franco now, but at the same time, you were terrified of what would happen the next time you saw him. So you left and went back to the hotel alone. You knew your usual routine; dinner together, spending a bit of time in his hotel room, then going to bed and heading home on separate flights.

And even though your journal had long left your mind, you imagined what would happen that night in his hotel room.

Another kiss, but rougher this time, more sure of what he wanted; and what he wanted was you. Hands wandering, hitched breaths, waking up next to each other in the morning light.

You felt like you were going to faint. But he never came by that night. No text, no call, no tentative knock on your door.

And even in the morning when you checked out of the hotel and made your way to the airport, still nothing.

You had hoped when you landed and turned your phone off airplane mode that you’d find a notification from him, but your texts were empty.

A day turned into a week. One week turned into two. No word from him. All your messages left on delivered.

It took you two weeks to get him on the phone. You had to call him out of the blue; that was the only time he answered you.

“Hello? YN? Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you—”

He cut you off. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” you answered, slowly, as to not cause an argument. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You paused. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

He paused too, but his pause was more awkward than peaceful. Clearly what had happened in Brazil had changed things, to a point where even a phone call felt stiff and unnatural.

You continued, “Do you maybe want to get dinner this weekend? Our usual place?”

It was a neutral enough offer, something that would be absurd of him to refuse. 

“Yeah, let's do that. I’ll pick you up on Saturday.” His tone was cool, but you took any opportunity you had for connection. He had said yes to your invitation; that was enough.

In the meantime, unbeknownst to you, Franco was losing his fucking mind. 

He didn’t know why he had kissed you in his driver’s room. It was like he wasn’t in control of his body. But how beautiful was the result; his lips pressed to yours, so softly, felt like heaven. He relished every second of the slow and chaste kiss as if it would be his last.

And when his manager had ruined the moment, he realized that it might be. He snapped back into reality as he rushed down the hallways of the paddock with her. She was clearly pissed. She led him back to a small meeting room. The room was empty, but he knew soon the whole team would be there, and he walked in like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Before he had even sat, she took her place at the head of the conference table, small but imposing. He was in big trouble. 

She inhaled deeply before beginning.  “Franco, are you okay?”

He nodded. 

“Say it.”

“I’m okay. I’m so sorry, I—”

“You were distracted.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“But it’s the truth.” He was silent. She continued, “Look, I get it. You don’t have much experience driving in the rain. You wanted to switch to wets, I heard the radio. You tried your best during the race.”

He fiddled nervously with his hair like a child being scolded, not even able to meet her eyes. 

“I’m not upset that you crashed. Five other drivers crashed too. What I am pissed about is the media shitstorm that you’ve created. First that stunt last night, then crashing this morning? And I know you were distracted then, because you weren’t talking at all on the radio and then I saw you staring at YN before your last lap. What is going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She was right. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He paused, stretching and scratching the back of his neck. He had always tried to keep his personal and professional lives separate, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that he couldn’t do that for much longer. 

“I… things are just… weird with me and YN lately.”

“I can tell.”

He gathered his courage before his confession. “I think I’m in love with her.”

His manager sighed. “I figured.”

She sat, a more sympathetic expression crossing her face. She explained, “Look, we all love YN. She’s always been there for you. I’m not trying to tell you what you need to do in your personal life, you’re an adult. But I think you know what needs to be done.”

He did know. But he was so scared. So terrified of the unknown future now. He couldn’t even speak it. 

His manager continued, “Well, after today, it’ll be hard to salvage the Redbull contract. But we have interest from other teams, too. Alpine, mostly. You still have a shot at a seat for next year. We can do this.”

She reached over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He smiled and nodded, knowing there was much work ahead to be done.

And that work had truly kept him busy in the following days, though not too busy to reach out to you. He just couldn’t do it. He knew if he gave himself anything he’d fall too far in. You consumed his every waking thought—but he couldn’t bring himself to respond to your messages.

Instead, he spent his late, sleepless nights online, reading what everyone was saying about him. A horrible decision, in retrospect.

The commentators had thrown him under the bus, calling him underdeveloped and inexperienced. Hundreds of people calling him “crashpinto” and saying he didn’t deserve his seat. To them, maybe lighthearted, but to him, it meant everything he had ever worked for becoming a mockery on Twitter. 

When you called, he picked up on instinct. You never called out of the blue unless it was bad.

But you had just wanted to hear his voice.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. He knew he couldn’t do this. His manager had told him. The entire internet was telling him. But he agreed to see you that weekend anyway. 

At least, that was the plan. But Saturday came and went and no word from him, no knock on your door, no answered text. Even a call went straight to voicemail—he had declined it.

All week, you had been looking forward to seeing him. You were wearing that dress you’d always fantasized about, the one that was his favorite color, the only one you felt truly beautiful in.

You had gotten dolled up for dinner. You wanted to finally tell him how you felt.

And he stood you up.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. How could you not? Franco was sending you mixed signals and you couldn’t do it anymore. 

But when you woke up, it was worse.

A million notifications. At least, that's how it felt. Disoriented, you opened your phone to a video from last night; Franco, walking around Madrid, with an actress. He had stood you up for someone else.

And not just any someone. You had heard of this Argentine actress. She was…controversial. Older. Beautiful.

And Franco had spent the night with her. At least, from the video and comments, that’s what you would assume. They were seen outside his apartment. He was reportedly very…talkative with her. Touchy.

You wanted to puke. The comments didn’t make it any better.

FRANCO BABY GET AWAY FROM HER

How could he do that to YN? 

I know he and YN weren’t official but if a man danced with me in the rain one week and was caught with the most problematic actress of Argentina the next, I’d commit an act of violence.

He is so fucking stupid, does he really think this is gonna help his PR after Brazil?

OMG they are so cute! They could be Argentina’s power couple <3

The last comment made you cringe. The replies to it were not kind.

You read through far too many comments before checking your texts. No message from Franco, of course. But from someone else: his mother.

Call me when you can xx

You took a moment to compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you dialed her number. 

Her voice on the other line was comforting. 

“YN, dear, how are you?”

“Hi,” you said, “I’m… I’m okay.” You lied, and she knew it.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not really okay. Franco has been acting…odd lately.”

“I know. That’s what I called to ask about. I’m sure you’ve seen the video?”

You swallowed hard, as if you could force the pain down to your stomach and ignore it. “I have.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I haven’t heard from him for weeks, since Singapore. I thought I raised him better than this. The press is saying he was covering his face in the video because he didn’t want us, his own family, to know.”

“Seriously?” you questioned, aghast. But your shock was also at the implication of the statement—us, his own family. Even his mother considered you part of the family. But you were invisible to him, it seems. 

“Yes!” She responded. “And for good reason. I’ve never seen his father so angry. He’s throwing away his whole career for some… woman. He’s distracted.”

That word: distracted. It felt more powerful now than ever before. 

“I mean, he hasn’t seemed like himself lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I don’t either. I actually wanted to ask you to check in on him. He isn’t answering anyone, but I just need someone to talk some sense into him. Just go over to his apartment. If I was there, I’d be on his doorstep with a wooden spoon.”

You could hear the frustration and restraint in her voice. The visual of Franco’s mom on his doorstep with a spoon ready to discipline him was almost comical, if not given the context.

“I’ll try. But if he’s not listening to his own mother, I don’t think he’ll listen to me.”

“Well, if you at least try, that’s enough.” She sighed. “YN, I’m so worried for him.”

“So am I.”

The line grew quiet. You could tell his mother had more to ask, but was restraining herself. You were grateful; you didn’t have the energy to tell the insane back and forth you’d undergone with him in the past few days. You were exhausted. 

So you bid each other goodbye and you readied yourself to go to Franco’s apartment and confront him. This couldn’t go on forever. 

You were surprised that he ever even answered the door. You knocked tentatively at first.

“Franco, it’s YN. Let me in.”

He wordlessly shuffled to the door and opened it, not even stopping to greet you as he went back to his couch to scroll on his phone. 

“Hi,” you greeted, awkwardly, as he was clearly uninterested. He just gave you a small nod.

You sat down next to him. You weren’t quite sure what to say. You opened your mouth to begin, but he cut you off.

“If you’re just here to lecture me, don’t.”

“I’m not here to lecture you.” Except, you kinda were. “Franco… everyone’s worried about you. I’m worried, your mom is worried too. She asked me to check in on you.

He placed his phone down and laughed, an exclamation dripping with sarcasm and contempt. “I’m sure she did.”

“Franco—”

“No, she sent you over here to come scold me, didn’t she?”

“No,” you lied. “You’re just not acting like yourself—”

“No, don’t start with that. You’re here to tell me how badly I fucked up, aren’t you? Well you can save it. The entire internet and all my managers and sponsors and everyone else on the planet beat you to it.”

“Franco, will you let me talk?” You asked.

He ignored your question. “I already fucked up my chances at a Redbull seat, so might as well just keep doing it, right? Go big or go home.”

“Don’t you still have a chance with Alpine?” You had heard the rumors. It didn’t matter, though. Franco still had a chance at a seat, yes, but he was no longer the golden boy of F1, the perfect replacement for the driver that always crashed.

“Why does it matter? Redbull or Alpine or… Chinese F4 or whatever the people come up with. It’s over.”

In an ordinary conversation, you would have chuckled. But this was no laughing matter.

“Franco, everyone's rooting for you. We all want you to succeed, and we know you can. I know you can. I believe in you. Why are you doing this?”

He paused. “Doing what?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Ignoring you? Kissing you? Or spending the night with another woman?

“Doing things that hurt your reputation.”

“What, are you worried about the brand?”

“Yes. I am. And you should be, too.”

“Oh, fuck off. If you were really worried about ‘the brand’ you wouldn’t have been acting like you did in Brazil.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was full of pain. He’d never used that kind of language or cruel tone with you before.

“Acting like we’re a couple.”

“Franco, you initiated all of that.” The truth cut through both of you, leaving you raw and vulnerable. “And I thought you meant it. Was it all just… a lie?”

It couldn’t be. The dancing was public. But the kiss had to be real. Away from the cameras, the scrutiny, the potential of what could be. Just you and him. Two people who loved in each other—but in what exact way, it was impossible for you to know.

His only response was curt. “Don’t ask me that,” he whispered.

Silence blanketed the room for a moment.

“The actress,” you asked, “Do you love her?” It was a simple question, asked while still ignoring the elephant in the room of what had really happened in Brazil. 

“Why do you care?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

You looked at him with bewilderment. “I care because I’m your friend! She has the potential to ruin your reputation, so I mean, it’s kind of different depending on if she’s the love of your life or just a quick fuck.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so concerned about my love life. I don’t ask about yours.” 

You weren’t quite sure where his agitation was coming from, but it shocked you nonetheless. You responded back with your own passive aggression. “That’s because I don’t have one, Franco. I’m too busy flying around the world watching you race to go on dates.” It was true. But you left out the obvious fact that you were in love with him.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“You asked me to be here!” His words cut sharper than a knife. He had practically begged for you to be there. 

“Well, if it’s such a bother, then don’t come to the last three races. I need to focus, anyway.”

“It's not a bother. I enjoy being there! Franco, I’m just trying to talk to you, please don’t take out your anger on me.”

“You’re not trying to talk. You’re trying to tell me what to do, just like everyone else does. You all act like I’m a stupid child who can’t make any decisions on my own.”

Your anger grew. “Maybe it’s because you make decisions like this! You have a reputation to uphold and you’re choosing to associate with people like her?”

“You’re just jealous,” he said, with a thick venom in his voice.

Your heart skipped a beat. You pushed your nervousness down and let anger replace it. In an equally snarky tone, you rolled your eyes and replied, “Look, obviously you’re not going to acknowledge whatever happened between us in Brazil. But I am not jealous. I’m your friend and I want to help you. And besides, not every woman wants to fuck you, Franco.”

“Oh, but you do.”

If your heart had skipped a beat before, it had just dropped into your stomach now. Was it that obvious? Before you could even summon any rebuttal, Franco continued, “You know what actually happened in Brazil? You found me out. I stole your little diary when you left it in my driver’s room. And I read every fucking word.”

All the color had drained from your face. Every single word—where you had declared your love for him, and written all your fantasies about ravishing him and him ravishing you. Every fear and frustration and moment of sadness that you had poured into that journal; he had read it. 

“What, nothing to say now?” he snapped at you. 

He was right; what could you say when your best friend had crossed a line, only to find out that you had crossed the line so much further?

You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t have the strength to push them away as you had always done. What was the point, anymore? 

Your only response came out like a sad whisper. “Why would you do that?”

But clearly, he felt no sympathy for you. “Why would you do that?” he retorted. “Everyone tells me constantly that you’re a distraction. And they’re right. Because I’m trying to win points and you’re in my driver’s room writing fantasies about us fucking. And then I crash and lose everything and you want to act like you’re so innocent, just wanting to help. Well I know what you really want. And it’s disgusting.”

For a second, you really thought Franco was insane. Somehow, he had managed to manipulate the situation into making this your fault. 

But if he had truly read every word, how could he come to the conclusion that all you wanted was his body? How could he not understand how deeply you loved him?

In mere moments, a million ways to convey this went through your head, But it was no use. He was beyond the point of reason. And your friendship was beyond saving.

You had nothing to say, and it felt like if you didn’t get out of there right that second, you’d go insane. “I think I should just go…” you muttered as you turned to grab your things and exit his apartment. 

“No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to just run away from this.”

Your anger returned at his refusal to let you go. “If you can do whatever you want, then why can’t I?” 

This time it was him who was silent. 

Just as you were finally about to leave, you heard his voice behind you, “I’ll prove you wrong.”

His four simple words released the flood of your anger. You turned to him. “Prove me wrong? All I’ve tried to do is tell you that you’re wrong, that you still have a chance to save this if you do the right thing. But what if you don’t, Franco? What if you don’t get a seat for next year? You know what will happen? She’ll leave you. And the entire world will forget about you, everyone except for me, because I’ve always been here, even when you were nothing. But this is how you treat me, you’re mean and you lie to me and you betray my trust and you blame everything on me! So don’t come crying to me when everything falls apart.”

And so you left. And that was that. 

The next few days went past like a blur.

You could only remember small snippets. A set of emails; your VIP passes had been revoked, your flights and hotel reservations canceled. 

A video of him kissing her in a nightclub. A video of her going home with another man. Rumors. Pain. 

All of the sudden, you weren’t in his life anymore. But life just…went on.

You knew it would be best to just get off social media for good, now. Try to move on with your life. But you couldn’t help it. You watched the gossip pages, the F1 updates, his own page.

His comments were full of angry people, lambasting the actress or trying to defend you. His managers even had to issue a statement.

In your head you could hear his manager’s voice, scolding him. You knew exactly what she’d say.

And halfway across the world at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you were right.

The few days in between the video of the actress, his argument with you, and the Grand Prix weekend felt like a century. But he was here, for better or for worse.

Still, the icy glare of his manager cut through him. He’d gotten an earful after the video leaked. The tension still hadn’t settled. 

But media day had gone fairly well; little mention of you or the actress. In fact, everything had gone smooth—a little too smooth, going into qualifying. 

One last meeting before he’d have to get to the garage. The garage itself had felt oddly…quiet, without you there. Yes, he’d canceled everything in the hot aftermath of your argument. 

But he couldn’t ignore your absence, like a hole in his chest.

He went in and out of focus—he was doing that a lot, these days—as the meeting dwindled and staff filtered out of the room one by one, until again it was just Franco and his manager.

She felt the tension in the room, and knew it was a delicate balance. The wrong mention at the wrong time could ruin everything. So she didn’t mention your name, knowing that it could affect his performance.

“Hey, kid,” she teased him, “You’ve got this. You’ve been through a lot—Hell, you’ve put me through a lot, but you’ve still got three more weeks to show the world what you can do. And I believe in you.”

He only gave her a reassuring smile before he went to the garage. 

The smile was fake. He knew it. She knew it. Maybe the fans knew it. 

You certainly knew it, watching the Sky Sports broadcast from home. It was an odd duality; you couldn’t stop watching, but every time they showed Franco, you felt like you’d been stabbed right in the heart. 

And across the world, Franco felt that same pain. His manager hadn’t brought you up, but her words were far too similar to yours. I believe in you.

Of course she did. That was her job. But you? You believed in him when he was fourteen and couldn’t figure out how to wash his clothes alone. You believed in him when he was sick and when he crashed and when he fucked everything up. 

Everything you had said just echoed in his mind, over and over, every night. He hadn’t been sleeping well. 

But this was his own fault. He had ruined it. He had read the journal. He had revoked your VIP passes. 

He had no one to blame but himself. And it was eating him alive.

When he was younger, he fell in love with racing because of the freedom it gave him. When he was in the car, it was just him and the road. No one could touch him—he could drive into oblivion if he wanted to.

But now, even in the former bliss of that sacred space of his F1 car, his shoulders were weighed down by the weight of all he had done. 

The quali session was almost over when he crashed. 

There were no words anymore. He retired the car and went back to the garage in silence.

At home, you just cried. There was nothing else you could do. 

It wasn’t long before Franco heard a familiar knock at his driver’s room door—his manager. He had spoken to the media, answered all the questions perfectly. But he had cost the team more time and money. He had let everyone down.

He opened the door without speaking a word, bracing for his scolding. 

But when his manager entered, her expression was not one of anger. “Franco, talk to me. What’s happening?” 

“I don’t know. I just lost control of the car and—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He paused, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him. He sat down and brought his head to his hands. The words wouldn’t come out.

“Where is YN?”

“She’s not here.”

His manager’s tone grew angrier. “Yeah, I’m aware. Where is she?”

“At home.”

“Why isn’t she here? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Franco said, his frustration growing at his manager’s insistence. 

“Well, obviously something happened, because she’d have to be dead or in jail to not be attending one of your F1 races.”

He looked up, furrowing his brow. “You told me to do what I have to do. So I did.”

“She didn’t take it well? That's… surprising.”

His anger was now tinged with confusion. “Well, most people don’t take it well when they’re called a distraction.”

“...Franco, did you tell her that?”

“Yes, that’s what you wanted me to do!”

“Oh my—no, God, Franco, that’s not what I meant!”

The driver got up, ready to angrily speak with his hands. His manager didn’t cower one bit. She asked, “Franco, what the hell did you tell her?”

“I told her she was a distraction and that she didn’t need to come to the last races. And I told her that she doesn’t need to scold me because you already do that enough. I did what I had to do, exactly what you told me to do!”

His manager took a deep breath. “When I said that you should do what you had to do, I meant that you needed to sit down and tell her how you feel.”

Oh.

She continued, “Yes, you were distracted because of your feelings for her. But she isn’t a distraction. She’s your friend, right? And you love her. So why would you say that to her?”

He began, “I—I don’t know. I don’t…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

“Jesus Christ, Franco. What has gotten into you?”

He couldn’t even speak. 

“Is there any chance in hell that this can be smoothed over before the race next week?”

He shook his head. No. Not after he had deliberately stood you up to go out with the actress. Not after he had spent the night with her, imagining your lips on his instead of hers. Not after everything he had said. Not after he’d rescinded his gift he’d worked so hard to give you by univiniting you to all the remaining races.

No, things were definitely not going to be smoothed over anytime soon. 

Qatar. Still no word from him. 

You’d contemplated reaching out a few times, but every time you’d gather up the courage, you’d remember what he said. There was no point anymore.

He crashed within the first laps of the race. It wasn’t even his fault, but still. The damage was done. 

The once promising young driver was now the laughing stock of the internet from all the work he’d made for the Williams’ mechanics. Unfortunately for your mental health, you’d still been keeping up with F1 news. 

Your absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Has anyone else noticed that since YN hasn’t been at races, Franco hasn’t been performing well?

REPLY: Yeah, he does seem kind of off, even in interviews :(

REPLY: He didn’t do well in Brazil and she was there tho

REPLY: Yeah, but Brazil was a mess, no one except Max did well

REPLY: Call me parasocial but I 100% believe that he confessed his feelings and she didn’t reciprocate them. Why else would he immediately crash twice, hook up with a famous actress, and then YN isn’t at any races?

You laughed from the sheer absurdity of it all. Their assumptions couldn’t be further from the truth. 

But time kept passing, like your entire world hadn’t been destroyed.

And again, as Franco traveled across the globe for races, his world was crumbling too.

It was becoming apparent that he wouldn’t get a seat for 2025. His time in F1—at least, for now—was coming to an end. And you were gone.

As he checked into his hotel room in Abu Dhabi, he could feel that familiar weight coming to rest on him. It hadn’t let up through the entire triple header. 

And when he was alone in his room, he couldn’t hide from it anymore.

You were just a phone call away. All he had to do was press a button and apologize. You were kind—he’d always loved that about you—you’d forgive him.

Or maybe you wouldn’t. Or maybe you couldn’t. 

He couldn’t bear the thought. So he didn’t call. Instead he tried to shake it off and take a shower, washing away the grit and grime of the airport, and the metaphorical dirt that now clung to him, the guilt of all he’d ruined. 

But even in the shower, his thoughts wandered to you, back in Brazil. You had held him, and he buried his head in your shoulder, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume and the warmth of your embrace. 

His hand trailed from his hair, where he was rinsing out his shampoo, to lower on his body, over his toned stomach and the happy trail that dotted his stomach.

He imagined his hand was yours.

No. This was wrong. But you had done it, hadn’t you?

He finished his shower in record time. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed in just a towel, he remembered that night in Singapore.

Had you thought about him like this? You must have. Yes, he remembered, you wrote about it. 

He had kept the journal. It was there, in his backpack, at his feet. 

He didn’t even think when he did it, reaching down to grab the small leather bundle of sin, letting his towel fall to the floor and not bothering to pick it up. 

Climbing on the bed, he opened the journal again. His hand gripped his aching cock, but God, how he wished it was yours. 

He read. I keep imagining that night at the hotel in Singapore, when he came out of the bathroom with just his towel on. 

Yes, he remembered. The memory of your closeness made his hard length twitch. His eyes darted further down the page. 

So I get on the bed and straddle him, the only thing between us being my skirt, panties, and the thin fabric of the towel. I can feel him, how badly he wants me.

He pumped himself up and down, slowly at first, then harder as your words got filthier. He imagined the scene; you on top of him, his hand being yours. God, how badly he wanted you, no, needed you right now. 

Then I’m in control, kissing his neck, leaving love bites up and down so that everyone knows he’s mine. 

Yes, he was yours. His body was yours. His mind was yours. Everything that he was, was yours. How badly he wished he could tell you that. But all he could do now was keep himself on the edge, denying himself the sweet release as you’d imagined. 

He moans softly into my ear, bucking up his hips into me for just a bit of friction. “No,” I tell him, “I didn’t give you permission for that.” He whines in protest, but I just smile at his frustration. “My sweet boy…”

He mimicked the scene when his hips jerked involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from his throat as he released all the pent up anger and frustration. He hadn’t meant to finish this early, but your words and the memory of your lips on his had an effect on him that he couldn’t control. 

But even as his breathing slowed and he moved to clean up the evidence of his debauchery, he couldn’t help but wonder how you’d punish him for disobeying your commands.

God, he fucking missed you. 

Even with the clarity of his release, he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. His phone still lay open, the screen on your contact. 

One phone call. That’s all it would take. One phone call and you could be there at the end of it all, just as you’d always been there at the start.

But he still couldn't do it. 

He tapped the settings icon and hit “block caller.”

[listofwhyyouloveher]

tumblr hates women and wont let me post from my inbox pls enjoy this clunky screenshot i hate my life

Summary: The gang comforting youngersister!reader after she gets cheated on. Warnings: cheating, bad ex Author's note: forgive me ladies of seperate headcannons, i am doing it all in one fic im soooo slleeeepyy </3, also forgive me lady haters of y/n and all the weird bf/n thingys i literally do not know what to call this evil ex boyfriend im not ramona flowers i am so sorry.

Tears dropped past your eyes like pearls. You wiped them hastily as you walked along the street, hugging the curb and praying it was just a little warmer. Your shivering breath came out in cold fog and your lashes were cold with fresh tears. You're not usually in a state like this, shaken and crying, walking alone on the street near night, but your boyfriend of 1 year just cheated on you with his 'girl that got away', and as much as you wanted to be cozied up right now, the thought of being alone for another night struck you deep down. You dragged your feet walking to the Curtis's house, you would rather die than burden the sweetest family in town with your silly tears, but you craved their comfort. When you got there, the TV was still on, the familiar voice of Mickey Mouse putting a soft smile on your lips. Two-Bit must be there, he'd surely make you laugh. You knocked lightly, knuckles gently tapping on the worn wood of their door. "Hello?" You called, peeking your head in. To your shock, the whole gang was there, wrapped up in blankets and snacking on food like a girly sleepover. You giggled and Sodapop looked up. "Hey, Y/n!" He smiled warmly at you. The rest of the gang followed in a chorus of 'hello's and 'hi's. You waved, slightly turning to see the TV screen. The light of the television caught your tear stained cheeks. "Oh, Y/n, what's wrong?" Johnny asked, concern etched onto his face. "Hm?" You asked, looking up, momentarily forgetting about your past woes until you were met with worried eyes from everyone in the room, (except Dallas, who's gaze was still as hard as steel). Your hand moved to your cheek, lightly swiping over the tear-tracks, trying to remove the stain from your skin, erase the issues, sink into ignorance. Darry got up and handed you a tissues and then Pony followed, giving you a side hug. Your eyes welled with tears. "What's wrong, Y/n?" Steve repeated, getting up and patting your back lightly. You blinked, but the tears fell anyways. "My..boyfriend, he cheated on me," You said, inbetween sobs. Pony hugged you tighter, his actions compensation for his lack of words. "Oh, kid," Darry said affectionately, a sad smile on his lips as he pushed your hair from your face. Steve led you to the middle of the room, the center of the blankets, and the perfect spot in front of the TV. Two-Bit moved over to make room for you. As soon as you sat, the rest of the gang jumped to comfort you. Two-Bit covered your shoulders with blankets and Sodapop ran to get your favorite drinks. Johnny lightly wrapped his arm around your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. Dallas, however, sat on the couch, flipping his favorite switchblade, face unmoving. "What was your boyfriend's name again?" Dallas asked, out of the blue. Two-Bit turned to him, eyebrow raised. "That's not ominous at all.." He retorted, making you laugh slightly. He grinned to himself at pulling a laugh from you. "Ex..and his name is Bf/n" You bit your lip at the thought of him. So much time, and effort, and love that just disappeared. You whispered a 'thank you' to Ponyboy who handed you a warm mug of Darry's famous hot cocoa. "Bf/n? Really? That guy..." Dallas said, eyes never moving from the gleam of his blade. "You're freaking me out, man" Sodapop laughed. "No, I just mean...well I've fought the guy before, he's nothing special." Dallas looked up and shrugged. "You gotta get better at choosin' your men, kid." "Yeah, that sounds real smart coming from you," You rolled your eyes, the weight on your shoulders finally easing a bit. "Yeah, Dal' you're not exactly Cupid," Steve joked. "Better than you and that one chick down at the town fair," Dally retorted and you giggled at the memories. As the guys chattered over eachother, Darry came back and sat down, placing more blankets over you. "Hey, do you need something else?" Johnny asked, quietly, his voice underneath all the chatter but still the most prominent to you. You shook your head with a smile gracing your lips. "This is good."

[tasbcl]

read this fic by chaos_thirium on ao3 (actually. I’ve been binge reading all of their fics) and it got me thinkin……….

connor + nines x reader

(warning: 18+. werewolf shit. mentions of breeding. don’t like don’t read.)

Connor and Nines being werewolves is so GGRGRRGGRGRGR

Imagine finding two large wolves in the middle of a desolate road you so happened to be driving down, torn up and thin and weak. You couldn’t leave them there, they’d die, and you knew wolves were only dangerous if you gave them a reason to be threatened by you. You find a bottle of water and some dog-friendly snacks in your car, pull over and inch closer to them cautiously. They can’t even move, they just curl up next to each other, almost as if they’re waiting for death to take them.

They’re wary of you, but you lay down the snacks on the ground next to them and hope they eat. After some reluctance, they seem to sense your kindness, and start chewing at the snacks. The one with the piercing grey eyes growls at the other when it inched too close to his share of the food.

Not knowing what to do, you decide taking them to your lonely home nearby the woods would be your best bet at saving them. You worry for a moment on how you’d be able to get them in the car (they were pretty big after all, and not exactly tame dogs). But somehow, they simply know to follow you, and jump into the back of the car of their own volition.

They’re respectful to your home, shockingly, not tearing up your sofa or play fighting. Just merely sniffing around and growing accustomed to their new surroundings. You’d bring them to a vet the next day, you think to yourself, although you feared the bill bringing in two massive wolves would cost you. It was worth it you remind yourself, they’re innocent wild animals who were pretty low in numbers anyway, and deserved to live.

So of course you freak the fuck out when it turns out they’re probably not innocent wild animals. You come out of the bathroom after your shower and find two fully grown (and admittedly very attractive) men sitting on the couch together, naked, with a blanket they’d found covering them. They’re covered in scars and look battered, but before you make a move to run, you notice their eyes, and the lack of wolves that had been in this very room before you’d left them. Icy grey, and the other a warm brown, just like the two wolves. Covered in wounds, just like the two wolves. And of course, they look similar, just like the two wolves.

It’s pretty obvious, but you don’t believe it, until they start talking to you. They tell you that yes, it’s them, and the pretty brown-eyed one explains to you what happened to them and how they ended up on that lonely road on the brink of death together.

You keep them around. Of course you keep them, although you definitely debate your sanity as you choose to do so. But what else could you do? Throw them back out into the forest and let them probably die? That’s more than cruel, and now knowing that they’re… part(?) human?

Luckily for you, the weeks they spend living and healing in your home are far from bothersome. The brothers (twins, you’d learned) are so sweet and helpful, always trailing behind you like little lost puppies (well, not so little), helping you with chores, and nuzzling their heads into your side and neck. They’re affectionate, more than what is deemed appropriate, but you don’t question it. It was a wolf thing, you guess.

The one with the cold eyes (you’d come to learn he was called Nines) was quiet, not very talkative, but always lingering nearby, and would silently nudge you with his head instead of asking if he wanted to be pet. The other one, Connor, was so impossibly affectionate that it was hard to get away from him. He was always touching you, sniffing you when you got back from shopping or work, grabbing you when he didn’t want you to leave him. He enjoyed laying in your lap a lot, but he liked it even more when you stroked his hair. Nines would sometimes get jealous, and not so gently shove his brother off of you to get some of the love too.

Now, you don’t know how, but at some point they apparently start seeing you as their mate. Like, a lifelong, permanent, loyal mate. That is never discussed, but in their little wolfy heads it just made sense apparently. And with that comes their attempts to mate with you.

They run purely on instinct, and suddenly you wake up every morning with the both of them in your bed either side to you, cuddling up to you, hard and hands pawing at your body in a desperate plea. You bat them off, but that only lasts for so long. How could you keep two beautiful men like them off of you when they were so perfect, precious and so desperate to have you?

When you finally let them fuck you, you learn very quickly that it is not a one time thing. The brothers need you and have you every day, multiple times a day, until you near pass out from exhaustion.

If you’re turned away from them, they seem to take that as an invitation, because one minute you’re washing dishes and the next minute, Nines has you bent over the sink, pants and underwear ripped off as he fucks into you hard and mercilessly. He likes leaning over your back and nipping at the back of your neck, like he was toying with the idea of leaving a claiming bite on you, before he pumps you full of his seed.

Connor is a little more gentle, but still just as passionate. He likes taking you in your own bed, with his cock rubbing against you to tease you (but more so himself) before he pushes in. He pants in your ear as he murmurs about how badly he wants to breed you, to give you his pups. His fingers dig into your hips and hold them, pulling you off and on his cock before he slowly loses his composure and lets himself rut into you like an animal.

It’s a miracle that they manage to share you, when every other day they fight and bicker over the smallest things, always competing and never letting the other win.

How did I get so carried away with writing this 💀 I should probably just write a fic

[moonlit-midnight]

Relationships with the characters:

✩ All of them are strictly PLATONIC. ✩ My Yuusona’s bio (if you want to get to know me more).

✩ Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Ortho Shroud.

Dynamics: Like brother and sister, Found family, True companions.

The three boys share an endearing sibling bond with Hannah. Although they’re polar opposites, she easily got along with them because their personalities are shockingly similar to her younger brothers.  She enjoys cooking for Ace and Deuce, watching movies on weekends, studying together, and the duo occasionally invite her to Unbirthday parties upon discovering her sweet tooth. As for Ortho, he’s mostly seen hanging out with Hannah in the Ignihyde lounge, either playing video games, board games or geeking about technology and many other things. They became best friends right after Ortho joined the Film Research Club.

✩ Malleus Draconia, Vil Schoenheit.

Dynamics: Odd friendship, Bonding over mutual interests, Positive friendship influence.

Hannah considers her relationship with them kind of strange yet wonderful. She didn’t expect befriending a powerful prince and a famous actor, but it happened anyway. She and Malleus started off as awkward strangers. They used to be too formal and reserved around each other, but they eventually developed a heartwarming bond as time passed by. They bonded over their love for reading, cold desserts and taking long walks at night. She was so happy when Malleus told her that he has a freaking Tamagotchi. *(I own one and it’s one of my favorite gifts from my parents, sadly it no longer works). Unlike Malleus, Vil and Hannah instantly clicked. She dotes on him like she does with the first years, and Vil sees her as an older sister. Aside from being in the same club, they share a few things in common such as their love for fashion and being inspired to act from a young age. *(I was part of the Drama club during my school years and I once dreamed to be an actress because of it).

✩ Lilia Vanrouge.

Dynamics: Platonic soulmates, Chaotic besties, Partners in shenanigans.

Adeuce might be her first friends, but Lilia is the one whom she spends most of her free time with. They became acquainted simply because he’s often around whenever Malleus invites her over.  The bat fae is her adventure buddy and partner in pranks. She loves exploring and shopping with him on their day off, and she absolutely delights in joining him in pranking his little family. *(They’re harmless and silly pranks btw).  She thinks of Lilia as her soulmate because he’s the friend whom she feels the most comfortable to be weird with and the one she vents to when she has a hard time. They might have a very sweet and affectionate relationship, but they bicker a lot when they cook together, and despite that she finds pure joy in his presence.

✨ These are just summaries of my friendships with my favorites. I’ll post more of our lore whenever I have a chance.

✨ Dividers by @.cafekitsune | Templates from canva | Chibi sprites from twst wiki

[boom-butterflyeffect]

bless you and your until dawn hcs, they feed the freak in me...[hehe]

anyways until dawn men with a reader who likes biting them and how well the boys would react to it, PLEASE AND THANK YOUUUUU

i am here to feed the freaks

(very slowly tho because my brain sucks a bit)

UNTIL DAWN MEN BITEY STUFF

Matt

Hmm... this is a difficult one. I don't think Matt would be into biting, but if there was a reader who enjoyed biting him, he'd just kinda get used to it, and find it silly and a bit funny. Gets bit and just shakes his head with a sigh and a smile on his face. "You're a weirdo. Y'know that, right?" but his tone couldn't be more affectionate.

Chris

I feel like biting would catch Chris very much by surprise, and he wouldn't know how to feel about it. Could probably initiate some playful wrestling with him restraining your hands, "Would you stop that?" with a big smile on his face. Would make zombie and/or cannibal jokes.

"I know I'm just so irresistibly muscular and whatever, but can you try not to eat me?"

Josh

Oh boy. If you bite, he's biting back harder, and would absolutely LOVE a reader that bites him. Lots of play wrestling, biting, getting pinned, all part of the fun for him.

Now if you bite during sex, that's a whole other thing. That's just motivating him to go even harder.

Mike

Mike thinks it's funny and endearing, even though it catches him off guard sometimes. He gets used to it. He scolds you like you're a puppy,

"Hey, that's not nice." as he pries your teeth from him, with that trademark smirk of his on his face, trying not to laugh.

During sex, it's like a bit of reassurance that he's doing good, and that you're enjoying it, so he's got no complaints.

[thenoellebird]

It has come to my attention

(tw discussion of proships below. I hate them, by the way, they freaking suck. I support platonic/familial love) (there is also art at the bottom of the post <3)

that SOME PERSON on this site INSULTED one of my favorite GF artists @artsymeeshee by accusing her of proshipping because of her STRICTLY PLATONIC (and listed as) FANART.

This...naturally...made me very angry, as a strong advocate for familial/platonic affection. So, I decided I'm going to show my support for this realm of art by drawing a bunch of it and posting it here. I DESPISE incest and proshipping. And people who can't see platonic fanart as platonic need to either leave and fix their brain, or shut their mouth. If you see a brother hugging his twin and think "oh yeah they're romantically involved" that sounds like a YOU problem, dude. So go sort that out instead of RUINING our PLATONIC fun.

Platonic love has kept me alive over these past years and months. I am someone who's tried to off myself multiple times, and I have only once been in a situationship. I have no significant other right now, and I don't even want one. I'm just enjoying being happy with my friends, loving them PLATONICALLY. It's a great joy to just hug one of my friends or kiss their head or cuddle them during a movie night. And these are people I'm not even related to! I just enjoy existing with them and they make me feel like myself and make me feel like life is worth living.

Physical touch is my primary love language. If you make me hugging my mom or dad remotely even implied to be sexual I would punch you across the face. *Said as someone who frequently beats up the punching bag in the gym.* Besides, even if you're brave enough to say it across a screen at me, you'd never be able to say it to my face, so I won't care anyway. In that essence, I am untouchable. So I will continue to make physical affection art because it makes me feel both loved and lovable. It reminds me what love can be and what it is, because love is not inherently romantic.

There are way too many different types of love, and people need to shut up about the "oh because they're forehead touching they're in an incest relationship" LIke shut up, I head bump my roommate as a way to say goodnight and she's my FRIEND. I kiss my younger cousins on the head because they're like my silblings! I am physically affectionate with those I'm close to and I won't stop because you interpreted it as weird, cuz its not, you just have a warped view and need to fix your sense of reality.

WOOF. Rant being said, I am going to post a ton of platonic cuddle art and platonic physical affection art to both show my appreciation for @artsymeeshee and her wonderful wonderful work, and to combat whoever attacked her for it.

I hate it when people ruin good things for other people based on their wrong and warped opinions.

So I'm here to show my support, and help this wonderful artist regain her sense of security while posting the beautiful, sweet platonic fluff art that has inspired me so much.

As a note to artsymeeshee, you are an inspiration, you really are. And you're amazing. You inspired me to make my very first post on tumblr, and honestly, I can never thank you enough. The people here have supported me through bad days and their support for my art and stories has helped me more than I thought it could. And I never would have posted if it weren't for you. So I have you to thank for that. And I'm not going to just stand by while someone tries to ruin something you love so much.

I once showed my art to someone who hadn't seen Gravity Falls. She called Stan and Ford cuddling "weird" and it made me so dang sad. I thought I was being weird too and wanted to stop drawing them. But the way I recovered was I looked to the artists like artsymeeshee, and saw how much joy was in their work and it really just--it got me back again. I realized that I didn't have to give up on my joy, because it really wasn't weird, it really wasn't wrong, and the joy and truth was there to prove it. So, again, thanks to you, I was able to continue doing what I loved as well.

I hope this post helps as it was meant to, because in all honesty, I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful inspiration and brightness you and your art have brought into my life. And because of what this person did, I needed to let you know.

these last were random doodles in the margins of my notes to make myself happy. Enjoy the fluff art!

EVERYTHING HERE IS PLATONIC IF YOU TAG IT AS SHIP YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. I do not play around with this. I hate incest shipping, and I will, by default, snipe you.

[ohdeerfully]

Hello! Just gonna take a second and say I freaking LOVE your writing! I myself am a die-hard simp for Alastor…but enough about that! (Apologies for the long request)

Could you write one were the (fem) reader is besties with Angel dust,they share a close enough bond to cuddle with each other. Y’know since they’re like best friends and whatever they just find it entertaining. Soon enough, Alastor catches on with this consistent occurrence. Since he has a huge crush on the reader, he begins to grow jealous of the interaction. One night he knocks on her room door, at first he (tries and fails) to hide his feelings and weirdly feels the crave for affection. Which is very unlikely of him considering he’s not of fan of physical contact.

But the reader, being the smart little bastard that she is, sees right through his actions and grows suspicious. He admits his crave for affection, surprisingly very slyly.

The reader has no problem whatsoever with giving affection. So, he and the reader happily cuddle and she pets the fluffy deer ears on his head. She also catches his little deer tail wagging like crazy and she giggles at that. Leaving Al flushed and embarrassed. She gives him a little kiss and they stay like that the rest of the night :). This is just straight fluff and jealous Al.

hello alastor nation.... sorry for going super MIA for one million days,, ive honestly not been super interested in hazbin lately and just been busy in general but!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i cranked this bad boy out (as in i struggled to write it for like a month so sorry if its super janky) cuz i miss writing and i miss our boy. i didnt follow your request perfectly towards the end but i hope u enjoy it anyway!!! very fluffy very ooc but who cares. also not proofread so if u notice anything glaringly bad keep it a secret

By The Moonlight

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: alastor is ooc sorry.. it comes with the fluff. hes also lowkey toxic momentarily but whats new

masterlist join my discord!

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Angel Dust was one of the first demons that you met after falling into Hell over a year ago—and, despite his generally off putting and sarcastic personality he was the first demon that was actually kind to you. So, obviously, you found yourself practically glued to his hip on the day-to-day. While at first he seemed annoyed by your constant presence, the bond slowly became mutual as he found himself trusting you and opening up his tightly guarded true self.

Life at the Hazbin Hotel wasn’t much different except for one considerably problematic detail: the Radio Demon. While the relationship you had with Angel Dust was very affectionate, it had always remained platonic, but with Alastor…

Who in their right mind would fall in love with that demon?

You asked yourself this constantly, often beating yourself up for it when you felt heat against your cheeks in his presence or when your eyes trailed along the curves of his ears as they moved. This is so embarrassing.

It helped a bit that he seemed to avoid you in particular, often coming up with excuses to end a conversation and leave the room whenever he saw you come in. Or… was he doing that because he knew you had feelings for him and was just avoiding you at all costs?

Lounged comfortably on a lobby couch, cuddled next to Angel, you tried not to think too hard about it, especially now during one of Charlie Morningstar’s regularly scheduled Guest Bonding Experiences where… Everyone was present. While Alastor never agreed to join any actual scenario, he seemed to enjoy watching Charlie try (and often fail) to gentle parent a crowd of sinners, to which his motives were unknown but still questionable. You knew how dangerous the Overlord was but couldn’t help but stare a little too long at him as he joined the room.

It scared the shit out of you when his piercing red eyes seemed to snap to meet your gaze, followed by a nearly unnoticeable tightening of his grin. You quickly looked away, trying to play it off by looking at everybody else as well. Angel’s arm, which was thrown around your shoulder, nudged lightly.

“You okay? Ya leg is jumpin’ like a jackhammer down there.”

You composed yourself and reassured him that everything was fine.

Today Charlie was encouraging different pairs of demons to share what they like about eachother and admit something they should work on within themselves. Like clockwork, the activities went by awkwardly and eventually derailed way off Charlie’s original plan. She was always able to quickly adapt, but even she could hardly settle the group of rowdy and crude demons when things got out of hand.  

Vaggie didn’t take long to get fed up and quieted the noise with a few shouts. Charlie placed a grateful touch against her arm before clearing her throat.

“Okayyy… back on track. Uh,” Her eyes glanced around before finally landing on you. She beckoned you up. Your mouth opened to reject, to complain, to do anything to get yourself out, but a sharp glare from Vaggie shut you up before you could even form words. You heard Angel snicker as you grimaced before peeling yourself off the couch and standing in the center of the room.

“Alastor!” The name made your stomach drop. “I know you don’t usually like to play along, but h–” She was hushed by a simple raise of his hand.

“My dear,” He said with a light, almost mocking chuckle. The static in his voice tickled goosebumps up your arms. “If you know I don’t join these frivolous games, why would you ask? Besides… I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

The way his eyes glanced up and down with what you could only read as contempt or disgust made you feel sick, but somehow angry at the same time.

“Fuck is your problem, man?” You didn’t even expect yourself to speak, words tumbling from your lips before you could properly think about who you were talking to. “You think you’re better than me or something?”

A pretty rhetorical question, considering his status as an Overlord, but you couldn’t stop yourself in the heat of the moment. Maybe it was embarrassment, or hurt feelings, or a bit of both or something else entirely, but you wanted to hit him so bad right now.

There was a hush in the room, save for the growing aggression in the buzz of Alastor’s radio frequency. By the way his eyes darkened with malice, you could only assume the plethora of ways he was imagining killing you right now.

“You’re lucky I am better than you,” He said in a dangerously quiet tone, leaning his height over yours. You clenched your fists and stared back in his eyes, though your knees felt a little weak. “If you weren’t such a waste of my time you’d be dead where you stand.”

If your tongue didn’t feel like a hunk of steel you would’ve commented on how you’ve seen him actually take some delight in killing similar “low-lifes” like you. He held his position for a moment, towering over you. When he seemed satisfied with his intimidation he straightened himself back to his usual posture and tidied his bowtie. His eyes glanced towards Angel Dust, held for a moment, before he turned away and left the room.

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. As your adrenaline faded, you shakily returned to your spot on the couch next to Angel before your knees had a chance to give out. You felt two of his arms hug around you, but you couldn’t muster energy to return the gesture, every limb feeling useless.

“Man, you’re lucky, really had me worried there,” He tried to lighten the mood with a laugh. “The fuck he look at me for, though? I’da thought he was gonna come after me next with that look of his.”

“Hey…” You looked up at Charlie, who was tentatively hovering next to the couch. “I… even for Alastor… I didn’t expect him to react like that. He usually just says ‘no’ when I ask.” You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.

“He’s unpredictable. A surprise from him is really no surprise at all if you think about it.”

Charlie’s eyebrows upturned as she looked over you, worried at your shaky state.

“You should go get some sleep, we can… just stop here. I think everyone’s tired anyway.” She waved her hand to dismiss the other demons, hoping to get you more privacy considering everyone was just ogling at you. Angel gave you a tight hug before sauntering off, not so sneakily following after Husk.

Your stomach was churning and your throat felt dry, but it wasn’t even a guess as to why. You pissed off and basically challenged Alastor and somehow got away alive. You honestly started to feel proud of yourself for that fact.

After the others left, Charlie offered to help you to your room but you merely laughed and assured her it was no big deal. You just needed a moment. You waited for a while in the dark, empty lobby, your only company the slow tick of a large grandfather clock against the far wall.

Soon an overwhelming feeling of paranoia set in and you started to feel jittery and uncomfortable. You could swear to yourself that something was watching you, but when you carefully looked around you couldn’t see anything. You hastily stood up and left for your room.

You sighed aggressively as the door shut behind you, resting the back of your head against it. Man, you felt so stupid. You never had any chance with Alastor anyway, but you still cursed yourself for acting like such a fool towards him. Just as you lifted yourself from the despairing slouched position against the wooden door, a quick but gentle knock sounded from the other side.

Assuming it was Charlie making another “are you sure you’re okay” round, you fixed your face with a smile and opened the door. As soon as it opened just a crack, your senses were flooded with the buzzing hum of an uncomfortably familiar radio noise.

Ah. Shit.

The smile was frozen temporarily on your shocked face but then slowly dropped as instead of the sweet expression of Charlie you were expecting, you instead trailed your eyes up to meet the cold, red gaze of Alastor.

Okay. Yeah. He was just here to kill you now since nobody—notably Charlie—was here to see. Makes sense!

You tried your best to stand still and unbothered as a few seconds of silence ticked by, though you weren’t sure how well you’d be able to keep it up a second time, especially now that you were... Alone. In the dark. With Alastor. Your head was already starting to hurt from the overpowering sound of radio frequency. Somehow still, you mustered the courage to speak.

“Aren’t you supposed to say hello?” You weren’t exactly sure why you said anything remotely aggressive, though maybe you were already resigned to accepting your fate at the hands of the Overlord in front of you. 

It seemed to trigger him to life again, as his eyebrows raised along with his smile. “Oh! My apologies, where have my manners gone! Hello!” You couldn’t really tell if the grin that stretched across his face held more hatred than usual.

Your arms were folded as you waited for him to continue, lips slightly pursed in worry at his presence.

Surprisingly enough, Alastor seemed to be unsure of what to say next. His mouth was slightly agape, almost like the words were caught in his throat and he was having trouble deciding what to say next. Which was odd for him, considering how he always seemed so thought out and sure of himself.

“You know, you shouldn’t be so physical with that spider friend of ours,” He finally said, which seemed incredibly forward, even by his standards. Your eyebrow quirked up in response, a frown forming at the way he so distastefully spat out his reference to Angel Dust.

“And why’s that?” “A dame like yourself… so… physical with that walking sex disaster. It’s unbecoming.”

“And… why are you telling me this? Why do you think I care what some old-fashioned radio host has to say about how I run my friendships?” You placed your hand on the door frame, ready to shut it in his face—but there was something odd about his expression that intrigued you just enough to keep it open. 

Alastor took a step forward, sensing your intention to shut the door. You took a matching step backwards. Your heart was beating at a pace you didn’t know it was capable of, reaching a rush of adrenaline that you assumed was at the face of your (final) death.

“I can’t say why I’m telling you this. I can’t say why I even care what some weak creature like you is doing. But I do know that I want you to listen to me and I will tear that spider apart if it means you do.” Every few words brought him a step towards you, and, just as before, you met with the same amount of steps backwards. You felt the back of your foot touch a foot of your bed.

“So you’re jealous?”

An almost comical record-scratch-esque noise sounded from—you assume—his radio staff as his body stiffened and eyes narrowed. The ambience of radio static was momentarily gone. You yourself froze, unsure exactly what made you so bold all of a sudden. It seems the face of death is one hell of a drug.

“What? How… how dare you even suggest such a ridiculous idea,” Although the intent of his words were hostile, he seemed… flustered? His face was turned away slightly and you could see the corners of his smile trembling a little bit. Would you dare admitting to yourself it was oddly cute?

“Listen, man, I’m just calling it how I see it. You come to my room in the dead of night complaining about me snugglin’ with Angel Dust. Just as you said… why would you care? Unless, of course…” You trailed, leaving the very obvious end to your sentence open for interpretation. 

Stiffly collapsing into a seated position on the corner of your bed made you realize how wobbly your knees had gotten as you were sure Alastor had been planning to kill you. You still weren’t positive you were in the clear, but your chances seemed a little brighter.

Alastor seemed to be battling some internal monologue because he still stood with his head turned from you. He was growing increasingly agitated, with the sound of his radio static returning and somehow getting sharper and louder. You wanted to try to pull him back into the conversation before he dipped out and never spoke to you again. 

“You know, I’ve never really felt any real love for the people around me. Even when I was alive. I love Angel Dust, yeah, but… nothing beyond the friendship we have. But then I got to the hotel and–”

“Why are you telling me this? I don’t care. I’m not a therapist.”

“For a guy that cares so much about manners you sure love to interrupt,” You spoke in a teasing tone, though Alastor didn’t seem to appreciate the words anyway. “Plus, I mean… You’re still here. Listening.”

He pondered for a moment. You honestly were surprised he didn’t just teleport the fuck out of there the second you started talking about your feelings.

“I don’t know why I care about you.” He admitted, and you didn’t fail to notice the lack of his usual radio-filtered voice. As awkward as the words seemed falling from his lips, his piercing eye contact with you never wavered as if he was just trying to intimidate you into nonexistence so he didn’t have to deal with this.

When you patted the spot on the bed next to you, you didn’t actually expect him to accept the offer. What you expected even less was for him to sit just close enough for your shoulders to touch. He was stiff and likely uncomfortable, and… so were you. You really had no clue how you even got here.

Seconds felt like hours as you sat in silence, the barely noticeable prickling of static against your skin being the only thing keeping you present. Otherwise you worried you might pass out from how long your heart had been nearly beating out of your chest.

“What were you saying earlier?” His voice suddenly broke the silence, making you jump slightly. You looked at him, but he was busy looking out a window.

“What do you mean?” “I mean earlier when I, very rudely, I apologize, interrupted you. What were you saying… about when you finally got to the hotel?”

His voice had such a sweet sound to it when it wasn’t distorted like it went through a radio channel. You allowed your eyes to trace the silhouette of his face for just a moment, lit ever so slightly by the red of the moon being filtered in by the window. You didn’t dare let your gaze linger for too long just in case he turned back towards you.

“Ah, I thought you weren’t my therapist,” You joked lightly. He side-eyed you, eyebrows scrunching.

“Don’t push your luck here.”

You laughed breathlessly, struggling to find air to even speak. You were still so incredibly nervous sitting so close to him and speaking so intimate with him.

“Yeah, uh… When I got to the hotel I think I finally found someone I felt love for. Something beyond just friendship. And it’s a weird feeling.”

Your knees were almost touching his. You could’ve sworn you weren’t this close to him before.

“I don’t think you should say who that demon is.”

“I know.”

Silence passed between you two again, and he still remained fixated on staring out the window. Finally, after a few moments of quiet, he finally turned his gaze back to you. His eyes, although they glowed with a dangerous, murderous red, somehow entranced you. They always had, but something about being this close to him in the gentle lighting being cast in from the moon… you could almost drown in them.

Without much of a thought, your hand had risen towards his face. When he flinched away you were suddenly brought back to your senses and your hand froze midair. Before you could move away and throw out a million apologies, his clawed fingers wrapped over yours.

It was a strange sensation, feeling his hand against yours. His skin was far from warm, and you knew how much blood spilled between his fingers, yet…

You allowed him to pull you towards him, a tug at your wrist bringing your chest flush against his. Your head was under his chin, and you held yourself stiffly against him. You could tell he wasn’t so sure either, with the way his hand held a rough uncertainty at the base of your back and his clawed fingers dug just a bit too roughly into your skin as he held you against him.

Gently moving, you tested the waters of his tolerance of you taking matters into your own hands. Although this feeling was unknown to the both of you, you at the very least knew how to be comfortable.

You urged him to scoot towards the pillows, pulling him along and pressing him back down on his back. You moved slow, waiting for the smallest hint that he wanted you to stop, but it never came. You settled next to him, flush against his side and you guided his arm to wrap around your waist. 

The stiffness ever so gradually left his body as he completely succumbed himself to you, allowing you to mold the two of you into an interwoven position, a closeness that the two of you desperately needed for each other. He would never admit this desire, but you knew by the fact you weren’t incinerated for trying to touch him that he needed this as much as you did.

Once settled, you traced featherlike fingers across his arm. You weren’t eye level with him, but you knew by the red glow in your peripheral that he was staring fixedly at you as if to study your entire being.

The moon eventually moved beyond your window, casting the room in complete darkness, your only sensation being the pressure of Alastor’s body against yours. There wasn’t even the slightest buzz of radio noise that seemed to always encompass his presence. His eyes must’ve been shut, too, as there wasn’t even a glow from them.

You let your eyes fall shut, enjoying the peace of the moment. You hadn’t the slightest clue what would happen in the morning—maybe you’d never even wake up if he got upset with some morning clarity.

You didn’t care too much, though. You’d just enjoy it while it lasted.

[voidwizardwholikestheshadows]

Obey Me when you hug them from behind

Warnings; None

Includes; Bros plus Dia and Barb

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Lucifer: If you went up and hugged Lucifer from behind, I feel like his first instinct is to tense up and yell at whoever touched him. He wouldn’t yell when he figured out it was you but he would still be slightly on edge. I feel like he would expect someone to hurt him and he has to be on guard at all times. After fully realizing it was you, he would relax and turn around so he can give you a proper hug. He’s not used to surprise acts of affection so he may be a little bit awkward in the very beginning but once you’ve been together for longer, he would become more used to it and less stiff. If you want a genuine reaction from him, only do it when he’s in his study or when his brothers aren’t around. If you do it while in RAD, he might not give you much affection given his reputation.

Mammon: Mammon might jump at first but he would be quick to relax into it and just enjoy the affection. He would turn bright red and act like it's a big honor for you to be able to hug him but just know he is melting inside. The great Mammon would never show affection toward a human after all but if you wanted to hug him first he wasn’t going to complain. After a while of being in a relationship and he had a stressful day, he might be the one to come and hug you from behind. Being around you always makes his day better. If you did it at RAD, he would act like it’s a big deal but he’s just flustered and doesn’t want to ruin his so-called “reputation.” He would still let you hug him but he would be complaining just a little bit more than usual.

Levi: Levi would be super flustered and would immediately freak out if you came up and hugged him from behind. He definitely won’t know what to do in this situation so he would just awkwardly stand there, not knowing if he should move or hug you back. He might push you away in the very beginning of your relationship and question why you would want to hug a yucky otaku like him. Once your relationship gets more serious, he would still freak out and be super flustered but would definitely seem much more comfortable in your embrace. If you did it during one of the few days that he’s actually at RAD, he would 100% freak out and maybe even lock himself in his room for a while after he got home and would not want to go back to RAD for a while. He still loves you but he doesn’t know how to react to stuff like that.

Satan: Satan would tense up just like Lucifer would and would try to pull away and yell at whoever it was. Once he realizes it was you, he would let you hug him and just kind of relax like that. In the beginning of your relationship, he might seem a bit stiff but once you get him to open up, he becomes more affectionate. Once you’ve been together for a while and you go up and hug him while he’s reading or something like that, he’ll just continue with whatever he was doing and let you hang onto him like a baby koala. If he was reading, he might just pull you into his lap and have you read alongside him. You should never tell him this but his reaction in the beginning is quite similar to Lucifer’s reaction. He would also be pretty fine if you hugged him at RAD as long as he wasn’t in the middle of something important or doing classwork. He doesn’t really care what the others think, they wouldn’t say anything to his face anyway. 

Asmo: Asmo would be totally happy if you came up and hugged him. He absolutely loves affection and he’s super happy that you are comfortable enough to come up and do this with him. He may make a few flirty comments before turning around and embracing you in return. Hugs with Asmo tend to turn into cuddle sessions or something involving self care. If he was doing his makeup or painting his nails and you came up and hugged him, he would pull you into his lap and start doing your makeup or nails. He would be totally fine with wherever you decide to hug him, even if it’s in RAD during class. He’s totally chill with all forms of affection, he is the Avatar of Lust after all. Affection is the name of his game. Whether it’s in the beginning of your relationship or you’ve gotten more serious, don’t be afraid to show him affection. He may even come up and be the one to hug you.

Beel: Beel would also be pretty chill if you came up and hugged him. To be honest, he would be pretty happy that you trust him enough. He would try to hug you back but he knows that he is pretty strong so he is super careful because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Sometimes you have to remind him that you aren’t a piece of glass that would shatter the second that he touches you. In the beginning of the relationship, he would be super careful with you because he doesn’t know much about humans but he knows they are fragile. Once you guys get more serious, he wouldn’t be as careful when he hugs you in return. Sometimes you tend to hug him after he finishes working out and he’s a bit sweaty but both you and him don’t truly seem to mind. He also loves any form of affection that loves from you. He would be fine with you hugging him in RAD and would hug you back without making a fuss. 

Belphie: After the certain events that happened in the attic, he tends to treat you like a piece of glass. He’s so scared about hurting you again so when you come up and hug him, it does take him by surprise. He’s definitely not complaining about it because you are warm and cozy and he loves the embrace. Most hugs with Belphie typically end up with a cuddle session where he falls asleep right next to you so you can’t get up and leave. In the beginning of your relationship, he tends to be extremely careful and nervous around you about what happens but after he knows for sure that you forgive him, he’ll act more normal around you. He truly loves you and doesn’t want to hurt you again. After a while of being together, he’ll start hugging you first because he wants to be close to you.

Diavolo: Diavolo loves your hugs, especially if you are smaller than him and he can just completely hold you when you both hug. When you come up behind him and hug him, he’s never that alarmed because he knows that nobody else would dare to do something like that so he knows that it is you. He would be totally fine with you hugging him in RAD but Barbatos and Lucifer may have different thoughts on that but they can’t say no to him and are glad to see him happy. He typically turns around to hug you back when you hug him from behind. He also loves to spoil you with gifts and affection but he also loves affection in return because he’s so used to people respecting him because of his rank and not because of who he is. He’s used to people wanting to be his friend or partner because they want the wealth and the power and not because they truly love him so he truly cares about you and the fact that you love him for him.

Barbatos: Barbatos already know you’re approaching when you try to sneak up on him. He can just sense you there so he’s never worried. Sometimes you wish you could surprise him but he is always on guard just in case. So when you hug him, he is totally calm and collected as he normally is. When you do it for the first time, he remains cool and collected on the outside but on the inside he is melting because of how much he loves you. He’s not used to physical touch or physical affection so he does seem a bit awkward but after a while he figures out how to hug you back and how to properly show affection. If you hug him while he’s working, he probably wouldn’t respond immediately because his brain is in work mode, but afterward he will make sure to make up for the time